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ONCE UPON A TIME 






1 

“Once Upon 
A Time” 

Being the Life of 
Adrian Ignatius McCormick 
of the Society of Jesus 


By David P. McAstocker, S. J. 



1924 

THE STRATFORD COMPANY, Publishers 

Boston, Massachusetts 


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Copyright, 1924 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
Boston, Mass. 


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The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 

AUG 14 1924 V 

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, 


MY LITTLE INDIAN FRIEND, IGNATIA, WHO 
SIMPLY INSISTED THAT I WRITE THE 

“story” 



Declaration 


Conformably to the decree of Pope Urban VIII, the 
Editor declares that in the following pages the word 
‘ ‘ Saint 9 9 is used in a purely human sense, and that he 
has no intention of anticipating the judgment of the 
Church. 


IMPRIMI POTEST: 

Franciscus C. Dillon, S. J., 

Prcepositus Provincialis Prov. California. 


IMPRIMATUR: 

f Joannes J. Cantwell, D. D., 

Episcopus Angelorum et Sancti Didaci. 




Foreword 

The Life of Adrian McCormick, S. J., will edify and 
benefit its readers. Written with charming simplicity, 
sincerity, and elegance by a companion Jesuit, it will 
come as a surprise to many. The reader will be able 
to enter into the sanctuary of a soul singularly gifted, 
privileged, and lovable. It will be refreshing in this 
self-seeking, God-forgetting world to find one who from 
his earliest years was gently and strongly drawn to 
God and to the things of God, one who in single- 
mindedness served God cheerily, consistently, and per¬ 
se veringly. Young people will find pleasure, inspira¬ 
tion and profit in these fascinating pages. Those of 
mature minds will bless God for the stimulus to their 
own spiritual life supplied by the heroic life passed 
in their midst. 

Knowing Adrian McCormick intimately and hon¬ 
ored with his affectionate confidence, I can testify that 
the writer of these pages has drawn a true portrait of 
a loyal, loving son of St. Ignatius. To him it has, 
indeed, been a labor of love. He deserves our grati¬ 
tude, the more so when we realize that these pages 
have been written during the past three years at mo¬ 
ments snatched from the care of his beloved Indian 
charges in the Sherman Institute at Arlington, Cali¬ 
fornia, and not seldom from a sick bed. 

God will certainly bless these pages, tinged as they 
are with the martyr-spirit, even though the martyrdom 
was one only in desire. 


Richard A. Gleeson, S. J. 




* 








ft 










Adrian and his sister Rose 












By Way of Introduction 


I GNATIA, the little Yuma child from the Indian School, 
opposite, is very fond of fairy tales. Scarcely a day passes 
by without her strolling over to the front steps of the parish 
house, and begging me for a story, and—incidentally—plead¬ 
ing also, at least with her eyes if not her tongue, for a caramel 
too. 

When she paid me a visit yesterday and asked for a 
story, since Christmas is drawing near, I told her the simple 
Gospel narrative of how Caesar decreed that the whole world 
should be enrolled; how Joseph and Mary journeyed from 
Nazareth up to their own city, Bethlehem; and how there, 
though weary and footsore, they were refused an entrance at 
the inn by their own people. This last pathetic incident deeply 
touched our friend, Ignatia. Twice she puckered up her lips 
in a brave effort to restrain the tears; then she abruptly left 
me with a hurried and distracted “Adios, padre!” 

This afternoon the clouds are gathering; the air is sultry 
and oppressive; a storm is brewing. I have squandered nearly 
two hours in day-dreaming, and am awakening to the realiza¬ 
tion that it may not be after all a very wholesome habit. Like 
an opiate, it is very soothing — and very exacting. 

This particular reverie confined itself to the events of a 
year ago — the dreaded epidemic that came into our midst, 
and a saintly little brother religious I had the privilege to 
nurse at the time, Father Adrian McCormick, S. J. He was 
such an exemplary patient, docile and cheerful withal, that 
naturally his heroic personality stands forth conspicuously 


1 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


in the panorama of that strenuous period. He recovered from 
the influenza only to succumb some three months later to an 
attack of pneumonia, brought on by over-work and undue 
exposure while giving a mission at Fort Bragg, California. 

And it was of this young Jesuit I was thinking, when I 
awoke to the fact that it was past three o’clock, and that 
Ignatia was but a few yards from the veranda. 

I mentioned something about a storm being imminent. 
One look at my young Indian friend convinced me that a 
tempest was soon to break in her breast too. She was accom¬ 
panied by two little girls, smaller than herself; or, rather, she 
dragged them after her, one with each hand. The swarthy 
head was somewhat bent, and the pointed chin resolutely set— 
evidently Ignatia had come with a purpose. As they neared 
the house, she motioned her companions to take the lower step; 
while she, very primly and very decorously, seated herself on 
the upper one. Slowly turning her big solemn eyes towards 
me, she questioned in a voice of suppressed emotion: 

“Padre. . . .?” 

“Yes, Ignatia?” 

“Padre, tell us a story where someone takes in the Christ 
Child, and gives Him a warm welcome and keeps Him ever by 
the fire-side. It just breaks my heart to think of the little 
Babe, without any clothing, out there in that cold, damp 
stable. ’ ’ 

And two large tear drops threatened to break down my 
little friend’s control. 

“Why, Ignatia,” I replied, “Just a few moments ago I 
was thinking of a young man who received the Child and kept 
Him ever in his heart. ’ ’ 

“Oh, padre! tell us all about him. He must have been a 
Prince! ’ ’ 


11 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


“Nonsense! Ignatia, please put that notion of Prince 
and Princess out of your mind. He was just an ordinary 
human being like you and me. In point of fact, he was even 
less conspicuous than you or I. He did not show himself to the 
world and to his companions as we are prone to do, but kept 
himself hidden from others,—he was little in his own eyes. 
You, Ignatia, in your rambles on a free afternoon, often come 
across a fragrant meadow; and you wonder where the perfume 
originates, comes from. You kneel down in the midst of the 
tall grass, and, brushing it aside with your hands, discover — 
violets! It was the little hidden violets that refreshed you 
with their perfume; and it was the little hidden virtues of this 
young man which delighted us with their fragrance; yet most 
of us blockheads, Ignatia, failed to recognize from whence the 
pleasant odor sprang, and we never valued him at his true 
worth. ’ ’ 

“But, padre! what did this man — this Prince — receive 
in return for his kindness to the Child ?’ ’ 

“There you go again, Ignatia! I tell you he was not a 
Prince. This is no fairy tale — this man really existed. . . . 
Let me see. . . . What did he receive, you ask? Why, every¬ 
thing, everything! 

“Desiderium animae ejus tribuisti ei!” 

“Padre, I do not understand the big words. They puzzle 
me. . . * De . . . sid . . . er . . . ium. . . . What do you 
mean ? ’ ’ 

“I mean, Ignatia, that the King took him by the hand 
and, opening up all the stores where His treasures were, said: 
'Take all these, my son, for they are thine!’ Now do you 
understand ? ’ ’ 

My little friend nodded her head vigorously and her 
eyes danced their delight. Such words were intelligible. She 

iii 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


had once more recovered her peace of mind, and heaved a sigh 
of complete satisfaction. Finally, after a short period of 
silence, she began again: 

“Padre, you are teasing me — he must have been a 
Prince.” 

“No, Ignatia, he was just an ordinary priest like me.” 

Yet the little child shook her head. My words had failed 
to convince her. 

“Ignatia, what makes you think he was a Prince?” 

“Well, you see, padre, if he were not a Prince when he 
shielded the King and took Him in, the King would have made 
him one; for only Princes and Princesses associate with Kings. 
And. . . .” 

“Oh, I see. ... I see. ...” 

The viewpoint of the little Indian girl suddenly smote 
me; and I could not help recalling the words of the King — 
‘ ‘ Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected 
praise! ’ ’ 

“Yes, Ignatia,” I began once more, — “yes, on second 
thought, I think you are right. Only Princes and Princesses 
associate with the King; and if he were not a Prince when he 
found favor with the King, doubtlessly the King would have 
made him one; for I recall of Him ‘ raising up the needy from 
the dunghill, that He might place him with the Princes — the 
Princes of His people.’ And now that you have brought up 
this subject, it seems to me I have read somewhere that we are 
gods and all sons of the Most High. I remember too that the 
King Himself said He would one day dispose of His kingdom, 
and place His friends over the several tribes, as Princes among 
the people. And now too, it flashes upon me that I have never 
yet met a friend — a real friend of the King, who was not a 
Prince too. 


iv 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


“If not by nature, at least he was a Prince in nobility of 
soul and loftiness of ideals. Yes, you are right, Ignatia, — 
this young man, McCormick, was a Prince. . . . Concedo. . . . 
Concedo. . . . Concedo. ...” 

“I don’t understand all you say — especially those last 
words, padre, but I am ever so happy that he was a real, real 
Prince.” There was a moment’s pause, then the little maid 
resumed: 

‘ ‘ Tell me, padre, all about this Prince! ’ ’ 

“Oh, but I cannot, Ignatia, it would take too long. It is 
nearly supper time already. Soon the bugle will sound to 
call you home.” 

‘ ‘ Padre, padrecito! Please, please! ” 

I laughed at the child’s earnestness, but could not resist 
the soft low voice and the pleading eyes of that Yuma girl. 
One would need to possess a heart of adamant to resist her. 

And so in the dim light of that December evening I suc¬ 
cumbed, telling Ignatia I would write down the whole story so 
she might read it at her leisure. And preparing to go in¬ 
doors, I bade my little friend ‘ ‘ Adios! ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Come ! ’ ’ she said to her companions, who, though deeply 
interested in the conversation, seemed scarcely to grasp the 
meaning of what had passed between myself and their chape¬ 
ron— “Come, girls, we must go home.” And reluctantly she 
crossed the lawn. 

Half way to the school grounds, there was a sudden com¬ 
motion. Ignatia quickly stopped, commanded her companions 
to wait for her, and then romped over to my porch once more. 
“Padre,” she began, “Padre, as you write down the story, 
please use a large P whenever you mention his name for you 
know he was a Prince.” 

“All right, Ignatia; it will be as you desire, for I have 


v 


BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 


noticed that all the really nice fairy tales speak of the Prince 
with great consideration and respect and I will begin in the 
time honored way, ‘Once upon a time’.” 

So because there are many grown-ups in this work-a-day 
world like Ignatia — men and women with kind hearts and 
lofty ideals, whose smile of approbation, like my little Indian 
friend’s I value and treasure — because of these I am writing 
the story of the Prince — the Prince who went forth and slew 
a Giant, and received as a reward the everlasting friendship 
of the Eternal King. 

Arlington, California, 

December 23, 1919. 


vi 


THE FIRST PART 


Childhood Days 

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, 

I understood as a child, I thought as a child. . 

1 Cor. xm. 11. 


/ 



CHAPTER I 


Early Memories 

F EW CITIES in the Middle West possess scenery of greater 
natural beauty than that which greets the traveler in and 
about the Capital of Iowa. The junction of the rivers, Raccoon 
and Des Moines, near the heart of the city gives her topogra¬ 
phy an individuality alike attractive and unique. In Spring 
especially it is a laughing place, full of greenery and running 
water. 

Within the ‘ ‘ Fork, ’ ’ the city, a veritable bee-hive of activ¬ 
ity and subdued noises; while unravelling from this centre, 
like gigantic threads of gray yarn, the paved highways, 
flanked on either side with native oaks, elms and hickories so 
dense that it is with difficulty you glimpse the comfortable 
houses and modern bungalows they screen. 

On the south and east, her limits are marked by wooded 
slopes through which the silver stream of the united rivers 
wends its way to the sea. Then across the river valley to the 
horizon’s edge, green pastures and rounded hill-summits 
dotted with browsing cattle — there you have Des Moines and 
the surrounding country — the world, in fact, as it unfolded 
itself before the eyes of the child Adrian. 

A favorite topic with orators of the present day is the 
influence we mortals wield on one another. The stronger char¬ 
acter impresses itself upon the weaker much as the seal upon 
the soft wax. But who will speak to us of the influence of 
nature on man—of the stupendous power she exercises in 
coming to the moral aid of her children! For when we turn 

[ 1 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


back the clock of time and walk once more the familiar paths 
and shady lanes of childhood, the conviction is borne in upon 
us that not alone our home environment but our natural sur¬ 
roundings as well, stimulated that spiritual and moral growth 
we attained in the after years. Silently and unconsciously 
the little rose bud, the joy of an hour, spoke to us of the tran¬ 
sitoriness of all things temporal: while the old oak that grew 
by the front gate, and withstood the Summer storms so stead¬ 
fastly yet so yieldingly — did it not convey a lesson also to 
our hearts — the lesson of submitting courageously yet re¬ 
signedly to the storms sent us by an all-wise, all-loving Provi¬ 
dence ? 

What part then did the broad valley, the silver river, the 
busy town of Des Moines play in the life of him whose deeds 
we chronicle? Did the pastoral scene his eyes often rested 
upon, when, as a child, he looked out in the evening on the 
world from Capitol Hill, — did this picture haunt his memory 
in the after years, reminding him of other sheep and another 
Shepherd, “who unto still waters leadeth him?” 

We like to fancy it thus — to think that the hills, and the 
valleys, and the meandering river’s message reached his re¬ 
cipient soul. For, when all has been said and done, it ever 
remains true that man lives not by bread alone but in every 
word that proceedeth from the mouth of God; and God’s word 
comes to us not only through revelation but through nature as 
well. What a charming fact and one worthy of note that the 
friends of God were besides ardent lovers of His handiwork, 
the world in which they lived. ‘ ‘ In the beginning it was not 
so,” might aptly be applied to our present mode of life. We 
dwarf our souls even more than our bodies by shutting out the 
beneficent influence of nature. It is in the broad, open spaces 
we lose our shackles and are able to soar to our true resting 

[ 2 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


place above. For man was not made for the desk or workshop, 
but to greet the rising sun on the way to his daily task, to 
salute the birds and the flowers and the sea (if he be near it); 
and to return home at evening with a thankful, albeit a tired 
heart. 

A frame is needed for a painting, one that will harmonize 
and accentuate the hidden beauties of the masterpiece. What 
more becoming background, what more fitting frame for the 
portrait of a Jesuit than the old town of Des Moines! Fitted 
by nature. A place whose pastoral surroundings, almost un¬ 
consciously, elevate the soul to God, a place where men’s lives 
may glide on smoothly and quietly ‘ ‘ like rivers that water the 
woodlands o ’er, darkened by shadows of earth yet reflecting an 
image of heaven. ’ ’ Spiritually also a suitable birthplace for a 
son of the soldier-saint of Loyola. For the earliest traditions 
of Des Moines are inseparably linked with the name of one of 
the heroic followers of St. Ignatius, the glorious adventurer, 
Marquette. And how meet it was that the Frenchman’s burn¬ 
ing prayer, as he glided down that self-same River long before 
it had received its present name, should find its fulfillment in 
after years in the vocation of one who in desire, if not in 
actual deed, imitated his zeal for pioneer work and love for 
those abandoned souls beyond the pale of civilization! 


[ 3 ] 


CHAPTER II 


A Cradle of Sanctity 

I T WAS in the town then of Des Moines that Adrian 
Ignatius McCormick was born on the 7th of November, 
1883. From the story of his life it needs no flight of fancy to 
picture the joy of heaven when the waters of baptism flowed 
over this predestined soul five days later, for, after thirty-six 
years of a holy life, angel hands will lay his lily soul to rest, 
its purity unspotted save by the crimson drops of its ‘ ‘ Martyr¬ 
dom of Love. ’ ’ 

His parents were pious, God-fearing souls of Irish birth 
whose ancestors had on more than one occasion wielded a 
valiant sword in defense of Christianity in the Crusades for 
the Holy land. Hence the crescent on the ensign of their 
house encircling the great white Host, the symbol of their love 
of the Hidden God. Often indeed, the designs of heraldry 
seem meaningless so far have the descendants strayed from the 
noble ideals of their forefathers, but in this case it is of par¬ 
ticular interest that the motto of his house ‘ ‘ Sine Timore ’ ’ and 
the virtues of his ancestors were the characteristics of Father 
Adrian’s life. To serve the Heart of his Eucharistic King and 
to die for love of Him was from early years the longing of his 
soul. 

When eleven months old, Adrian was attacked by menin¬ 
gitis in its most malignant form. One physician after another 
gave up the case as hopeless, but unceasing prayers were 
offered that this precious life be spared and — they were heard. 
Those familiar with this malady know that in cases where 


[ 4 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


death is averted, it almost always leaves its mark upon its 
victims. Often it is the mind that becomes seriously impaired; 
but in the work of the Divine Physician there was no imper¬ 
fection, — the child*s intellect remained bright and keen be¬ 
yond his years. A friend who witnessed this marvelous re¬ 
covery said: “This child has been saved for some great voca¬ 
tion and time will reveal it.” 

In point of fact, from this date we notice that wonderful 
mental development that made him a boy before his time. And 
the pity of it was that his physical growth did not keep apace 
with his mental. His clear, active mind outstripped the tem¬ 
ple of clay that housed it; and never after did the body re¬ 
cover the ground it had lost. Adrian always remained frail 
and delicate in health, though his mental vigor and boundless 
activities would deceive one as to his physical endurance. I 
well remember how earnestly he pleaded, time over time, to be 
allowed to sit up at night and care for his brothers during the 
influenza epidemic. He even went so far as to have others 
intercede for him, but we who knew his physical limitations 
thought it best to accept the wish for the deed; and so he went 
away, a rather disappointed martyr of charity. 

This frailty rather added than detracted from the charm 
of his person. He took the bitter pill of delicate health so 
bravely yet so cheerfully that one could not help but perceive 
that it added to the magnetism he possessed. Men, in other 
walks of life, have been given the Victoria Cross for less valor 
than he displayed; he received the increased affection and sym¬ 
pathy of those with whom he came in contact. 

Unlike St. Aloysius whom he was to imitate so faithfully 
in later life and many others who, from their cradle, radiated 
only sweetness and gentleness, Adrian gave early indications 
of an indomitable will and a quick temper. He could not 


[ 5 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


reason but he seemed to have the one idea in his baby head 
that everyone and everything should obey him. 

About this time, Mulvaney, the artist, famous for the 
painting of “Custer’s Last Charge,” made a portrait of 
Adrian. It is not only a perfect likeness but a revelation of 
the soul and character of the child. He is a lad, as his mother 
loved to dress him, in Our Lady’s colors; a white dress tied 
with a wide blue sash. He is seated on a rock beneath a cluster 
of trees. His head, crowned by ringlets of auburn hair, is 
raised and slightly thrown back with that martial air so 
marked in him at this period. His complexion is fair, his 
cheeks rosy in the bloom of youth and health; the curls are 
brushed back revealing a broad forehead, and though there is 
an air of sweetness about the face, his firmly set lips give no 
indication of that genial smile so characteristic of later years. 
His bright blue eyes look out upon some point in the distance, 
and in them one readily catches a glimpse of the dauntless, 
candid soul within. 

From the time he had the use of speech, he gave orders 
with the air of a commander-in-chief. And, if this failed, he 
pleaded with the gestures and tone of an orator. Visitors 
used to say of him that he would be an archbishop or an actor. 
It was almost impossible to subdue him, and, though he had 
never been petted, he feared no punishment. Only the love 
of Christ was able to storm that fortress and bring to terms the 
valiant soul within. 

Besides the fact of his repeating the little prayers he had 
been taught with great earnestness, as any child of his disposi¬ 
tion might do, there is no unusual manifestation of his piety 
until, when about three years of age, he hears for the first time 
the story of the Crucifixion. It was no doubt in virtue of a 
special light from God that with an understanding beyond 

[ 6 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


his years Adrian seemed to grasp much of its meaning. His 
baby heart swelled up in love and pity for Him Who had 
suffered for us. He cried and became quite hysterical. It 
was only after long hours of soothing words and caresses that 
the lad’s emotions quieted down and he fell into a tranquil 
sleep. This impression never left him hut became deeper and 
stronger as the years rolled by. Doubtless this grace of real¬ 
izing in some degree the meaning of the Crucifixion had some 
distant connection with his desire for martyrdom for he was 
often found in one of the rooms of his home gazing at a large 
picture of the Ecce Homo, and He Who so loves the little ones 
was assuredly speaking even then to the soul of this innocent 
child; for again and again in later boyhood he would say 
to his mother: “I want to shed every drop of my blood for 
Jesus, He shed His for me. ’ ’ 

One day his mother came upon the little fellow as he was 
lying on the floor and sobbing piteously. Asked the reason for 
the tears, the child replied: ‘ ‘ The lions and tigers are getting 
so scarce, there will be none left to eat me and I cannot be a 
martyr. ’ ’ 

His only sister Rose, the constant companion of those 
childhood days and his sole confidant, has given me many a 
charming glimpse of what took place in those by-gone years. 
The most prominent characteristic appears to be the child’s 
love for his crucified Lord. 

His mother recalls that when a very little child he made 
processions on Good Friday. At a little distance from the 
house, on a low hill, he put three crosses on the ground. The 
procession started from the house down the sidewalk. Adrian 
went first carrying a cross and singing, then came his baby 
sister, and, last of all, the big Newfoundland dog, who knew 
by Adrian’s grave deportment and admonitions that this was 


[ 7 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


no ordinary play and that he, too, had to keep in line. When 
the procession reached the hill, Adrian pretended that he was 
preaching. There was no question of laughing or talking dur¬ 
ing the period of the sermon, and that wise dog knew that he 
should not bark nor play. What impressed one in Adrian’s 
religious demonstrations was the gravity and solemnity with 
which he carried them out. They were a thing apart from his 
other plays, and he seemed to understand something of the 
sacredness of what he was imitating. The passersby would stop 
to look at the strange procession, but the lad was too absorbed 
in what he was doing to heed them, and too young to be self 
conscious, while human respect had no place in his character. 

“Before Adrian had a real altar,” writes his sister, Bose, 
“He was accustomed to make a temporary one, and, when he 
wished to use it, he never placed it in the ordinary play room 
but in the most secluded spot he could find in the house, gener¬ 
ally upstairs, in a rear bed-room which was little used. The 
chalice was a silver spoonholder, fashioned in the shape of a 
goblet, with a long stem and deep cup which was gold plated 
inside, and did, in reality, resemble a chalice. He told me that 
it was holy and that I must never touch it. He said: ‘ You are 
only a girl and you cannot be a priest, but I ’ll let you be the 
server and ring the bell and carry the Bible. ’ 

“He was so solemn about it all and so severe about the 
manner of serving that I had great difficulty in keeping my 
position. One day, after he had gone from the room, I did 
not heed his admonitions but reached up to the altar and took 
his chalice and tried to drink out of it. Punishment followed 
quickly; for the chalice was filled with vinegar and water, and 
I, being but a baby, did not know better and drank it.” 

A lad of his tender years drinking vinegar and water! 
Even then his youthful heart was thirsting after the un- 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


pleasant things of life, yearning to follow in the wake of the 
Master and drink His “chalice of suffering.” 

Adrian was an extremely active child always inventing 
new forms of amusement. One of his favorite pastimes was to 
assemble his neighboring companions, and, like a little apostle, 
preach to them of their home beyond the stars. In those days, 
though, his conversions were wrought by force rather than 
persuasion. He appears bent upon acting up at all costs to 
the motto of his house “Sine Timore.” Having discovered 
one day that a playmate who was older and stronger than him¬ 
self had neglected to say his morning prayers, he forced him 
to kneel down in the mud and say them then and there. 

A similar fate befell another youngster who denied the 
existence of God. The incident occurred while the family 
were taking their vacation at a summer resort. At the hotel 
where they were stopping was a lady who considered herself 
an atheist. She had often mentioned to her child — a lad of 
six years that there was no God. This little fellow and Adrian 
'soon became fast friends. One day, while playing on the 
grounds, the boy stopped, and, pointing towards the heavens, 
said: 

‘ ‘ That is not heaven up there and there is no God. ’ ’ 

Adrian’s eyes flashed fire and he quickly replied: “Yes, 
that is heaven and there is a God; and if you say that again 
I’ll strike you.” 

The boy repeated: ‘ ‘ There is no God; my mother told me 
so and she knows. ’ ’ 

The threatened blow quickly followed. The young atheist, 
holding a badly bruised and bleeding nose, ran with the victor, 
towards the hotel seeking sympathy and consolation from his 
mother. 


[ 9 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Their arrival interrupted a discussion between the mother 
and several ministers in which the former had apparently 
suffered defeat. 

The mother asked the cause of the boy’s tears and he 
replied: “Adrian struck me because I said there is no God, 
and you, mother, told me so.” 

Much confused she took her wailing child to her room to 
efface the marks of the encounter, while the ministers congratu¬ 
lated the four year old “Defender of the Faith.” 

Adrian appears to have captivated the summer colony 
that year. His winning manners and his utter lack of human 
respect charmed and edified all those with whom he came in 
contact. He would gravely enter the dining room, and, stop¬ 
ping before the chair assigned him, make an elaborate Sign of 
the Cross, saying at the same time in an audible voice: ‘ ‘ God 
bless Adrian, and make him a good boy.” Time and again 
his nurse whispered a hurried “hush,” but the child appar¬ 
ently saw no necessity for hiding his belief, and would repeat 
the self-same prayer at the next meal. His comportment dur¬ 
ing such moments was always edifying. His little hands were 
joined rigidly together, the eyes down, and the countenance 
so full of reverence, that many a man and woman who had 
begun the repast without thought of their Creator were un¬ 
consciously drawn to think of God and thank Him for the 
innumerable gifts they had received from His hands. 

The lad’s prayer too was indeed heard, for God did bless 
him and made him a good boy. When the period of vacation 
was over, the family were surprised at the large delegation of 
tourists who walked down to the station to bid them goodbye. 
The Protestant ministers, who were greatly amused at the way 
Adrian had answered the objection of his young atheistic com¬ 
panion, were on hand to see their “champion” off; and many 

[ 10 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


others into whose heart he had worked his way were there too, 
waving adieu to him who had not only amused but edified 
them. It was Adrian’s first apostolic conquest. Naturally he 
was glad; his childish heart welled up at the thought of other 
fields of labor and other victories, as the train carried him back 
to his home town once more. 


[ 11 ] 


CHAPTER III 



“And the Child grew, and waxed strong, full of wisdom; 
and the grace of God was in him.” Luke n. 41. 

T HE THREE were inseparable, the faithful Newfoundland 
dog, the baby sister and the active aggressive child; and 
many a passer-by glanced a second time at the trio as they 
sported on the front lawn of their home. What most im¬ 
pressed the spectator was the whole-hearted way Adrian gave 
himself up to the games of childhood. He played as if it were 
his sole work on earth. This characteristic became stronger 
and more marked as the years glided by. It colored all his 
work. He could concentrate all his energies on a given task, 
and possessed in addition a silent, bull-dog tenacity which 
ultimately spelt success in whatever undertaking he chose to 
embark. When such a soul then turns to God and determines 
upon a life of close union with Him, it is not hard to predict 
the issue. To concentrate your forces quickly, to strike with 
determination against a weak point, to continue to strike even 
after you have exhausted what you consider the last ounce of 
your strength — such powers would mark one as a great 
tactician here on earth. They are no less necessary in the 
spiritual combat. Ignatius of Loyola is revered as a saint 
today because, in subduing his soul to God, he followed the 
same plan of attack that won for him an imperishable name in 
the annals of military maneuvers. Concentration, determina¬ 
tion— the common element that links the lives of the saints, 
for the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence and the violent 
bear it away. 


[ 12 ] 





ONCE UPON A TIME 


At the time then of which we write, the amusements, com¬ 
mon to children of his age, served to occupy young McCor¬ 
mick’s attention and to develop those latent energies he after¬ 
wards used so generously in the service of his Maker. Though 
not forbidden the company of other children, the two lived for 
the most part by themselves. They walked in a world alone, a 
dream world, a world of toys, of make-believe, and still a world 
of realities, a world where God and the things of the soul held 
a prominent part. For, separated from outside influences and 
enjoying the environment of a healthy happy home, the chil¬ 
dren were naturally more protected from spiritual dangers 
than others who find their happiness away from the parental 
roof. Then, too, though kindness and affection predominated 
in the McCormick home, a sense of personal responsibility for 
their actions was instilled into the hearts of Adrian and his 
little sister which bore abundant fruit in the years that fol¬ 
lowed. Not alone their minds and hands were trained, but, 
above all else, there was training of the will, without which 
character is worthless, and individual and social greatness im¬ 
possible. 

The old Spartans were disciplinarians. Their children 
were born and reared in an atmosphere of moral firmness. He 
was a Spartan father who, when his little son affirmed, ‘ ‘ I want 
to, and therefore I will,” replied. “You want to, and there¬ 
fore you shall not.” There was stern repression of lawless 
desire; not a piece of parental tyranny, but a lesson in re¬ 
straint, a step in the progress of a soul that finally comes to do 
what is commanded, and to command itself to do the right. 
Such was the training, aided and fostered and tempered by 
religious motives, which was given Adrian in those early years. 
It was his greatest asset, for the best endowment that home 
can confer upon a youth about to enter the lists is ‘ ‘ a will so 

[ 13 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


trained that when a thing is right it will require no courage 
to do it; and when a thing is wrong, it will have no power to 
tempt the soul from firm resolve.” 

Adrian never considered this period of his life as a time 
of discipline but rather as one of direction. We mentioned 
before that he possessed as a child a violent temper. When 
he got angry with his toys, his eyes flashed fire and he smashed 
them to splinters. Well, as his soul began to have some idea 
of God, he loved Him passionately; and for love of Him he 
made generous efforts to conquer this fault. He was like the 
athlete Saint Paul pictures for us who threw aside everything 
that might hinder him in the race. That he succeeded thor¬ 
oughly in vanquishing self may be judged from a remark 
passed in his third year of probation — “Not even Adrian’s 
worst enemy could accuse him of being prone to anger. ’ ’ Reli¬ 
gion tempered all the trials he met with in conquering this 
passion and even at this period we find him acting from a 
supernatural motive under rather trying circumstances. 

When Adrian was about four years of age, the family 
home was destroyed by fire. It was the eve of the Feast of the 
Assumption. The household, aroused at midnight and finding 
the home in flames, were obliged to seek safety by a hasty 
flight. Adrian and his little sister were left for a moment at 
the head of the stairs in their night robes while their mother 
went to the bed-room to procure wraps to shield them from the 
night air. Alarmed at not finding them on returning, she 
searched in vain in the passage and then, doubtless led by some 
secret inspiration, she looked into the oratory, and found that 
Adrian had led his little sister to the shrine of our Blessed 
Mother, and, amid smoke and heat, the crash of burning glass, 
the calls of the firemen and the noise of engines, he was calmly 
and confidently looking up into our Lady’s face and saying 

[ 14 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


aloud the prayers his mother had taught him. All through 
life he had a great veneration for that statue, and more than 
thirty years later, during the last May of his sojourn on earth, 
he begged that special prayers be said for him before that 
shrine, or, to use his own words, “before that marvelous 
image of our Lady. ’ ’ 

This incident of the fire appears to have greatly increased 
his love for our heavenly Queen. Even at this early age God 
seems to have opened to this favored soul the pure way along 
which one so rapidly advances to sanctity. “Mary is the per¬ 
fect, the immaculate way. It is by her that Jesus Christ came, 
and it is by her that we must go to Him.” (Bl. G. de Monfor.^ 
Often during the day he would steal into the oratory, and 
kneeling before our Lady’s shrine present his simple petitions 
to Mary, Help of Christians. On one occasion, when his 
mother was kneeling beside him, he glanced up at her and 
whispered, as he pointed to the image of Mary: “Is She 
alive ? ’ 1 

And the mother replied: ‘ ‘ Why do you ask ? ’ ’ 

“Because,” answered Adrian, “when I am naughty she 
does not smile at me, but when I am good she does smile at 
me.” 

When Adrian first began to be interested in books, he was 
often seen lying on the floor with Butler’s Lives of the Saints 
spread out before him, and the page turned down at the ac¬ 
count of St. Francis Xavier’s death. It was thought that this 
was the means used by God to make known His Will to this 
young soul. For, from that time, his resolution never changed. 
He would be a missionary in China and, please God, give his 
life in defense of the Faith. It was also the beginning of a life¬ 
long devotion to St. Francis Xavier. In later years he said: 
“I long to work for souls in China, that country towards 

[15] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


which St. Francis Xavier's dying gaze was turned." And 
how singular that he, too, should die like Xavier on the eve of 
his departure for China. 

The thought of martyrdom always made a strong appeal 
to him, and continued to influence his actions in the after 
years. About this time, he was accosted one day by a priest 
who inquired what his name might be. 

‘ ‘ Adrian, ' ’ replied the lad. 

“That is a beautiful name, my boy. It is my name too. 
You and I are called after a great pope and that is surely an 
honor." 

The priest, who did not know that almost at the dawning 
of reason God had instilled into the child's heart a longing for 
martyrdom, was surprised at the emphatic reply: “No, 
mamma said that I was named after the martyr, Adrian. ’' 

The priest, to tease the boy continued: “But you must 
know that to be a pope is the highest dignity on earth." 

And Adrian replied: ‘ ‘ But I would rather be a martyr. ’' 

That night, when mother was putting Adrian to bed, she 
saw that his little mind was busily at work. Suddenly he 
looked up at her and questioned: “Mamma, isn’t it greater to 
be a martyr than a pope?" Even in play this thought of 
martyrdom haunted the lad. After hearing tales of the 
Christians devoured by lions in the arena at Rome, he trained 
his big Newfoundland dog to jump at his throat and appear to 
tear him to pieces. 

This tableau generally took place in the basement of his 
home, and so eloquent was the Profession of Faith of the 
would-be martyr and so heartfelt the expression of his desire 
to die for Christ that the scene became too much of a reality 
for his mother. She could scarcely bear to witness it, and 
would chain up the faithful lion and put the little soldier of 

[16] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Christ safe in bed where he might dream of the long-looked-for 
day when he would be privileged to prove his love for the 
Master by the shedding of his blood. 

Slumber on, brave young warrior! Slumber on! Rest 
content, for now your highest ambition has been fulfilled. 
Never, in your wildest imaginings, could you conceive the 
supreme happiness that follows on victory such as yours. We 
are judged here below by what we actually accomplish; but in 
the land beyond the stars it is altogether different. There, it 
is not so much the deed as the intensity of the motive behind 
the deed that makes it precious in the sight of God. 

‘‘It is not the weight of jewel or plate, 

Or the fondle of silk and fur. 

’Tis the spirit in which the gift is rich, 

As the gifts of the wise ones were, 

And we are not told whose gift was gold, 

And whose was the gift of myrrh.” 

And in the light of that criterion Adrian wears the robe 
of red he coveted so ardently. 

“Thou art what thou didst long to be, 

Thy fondest dream, thy childhood’s boast, 

Another Adrian bears the palm, 

A martyr ’mid that martyr host!” 


[17] 


CHAPTER IV 


“Consider the lilies how they grow.” 

Luke xii. 27. 

T HERE is no flower more beautiful or more symbolical 
than the white pond lily. In early summer it blossoms 
on the edge of many a lake and forms a sort of laeework, 
like an exquisite fringe on a costly robe. The handicraft 
of nature has produced nothing which fills the air with 
sweeter perfume and nothing which teaches a more impor¬ 
tant lesson. It is a silent advocate of purity, and as we look 
on its fair petals, which impart a still more delicious odor 
as they begin to droop and whither, it appeals to us with 
an almost irresistible eloquence. 

It is firmly rooted in the slime and mud at the bottom 
of the pond, but it rises above its origin like a white robed 
angel, and is so superior to its environment that we wonder 
concerning the magic with which it appears to be endowed. 
If you were to look at the seed and were to examine its 
offensive surroundings you would declare that such a prod¬ 
uct from such a habitation would be as unexpected as it 
would be impossible. But by a secret chemistry beyond the 
reach of our understanding it extracts from the discouraging 
mud a very miracle of beauty and furnishes us with an ob¬ 
ject lesson that has to do with the spiritual nature of man. 
It proves that the elements of an unspeakable aroma are 
to be found in the most unpromising conditions, and that 
the effect may be greater than the apparent cause if cir¬ 
cumstances are handled by the all conquering energy which 

[18] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


God has implanted in the seed. It has a distinct and lofty 
purpose in view, uses whatever will aid it in the accomplish¬ 
ment of that purpose and sternly and unerringly rejects all 
else. What will help to make a lily it takes from the great 
laboratory, and what would mar a lily it refuses to absorb. 
It has a destiny to achieve and, though the looker-on would 
declare that with such materials it is powerless, yet it 
steadily toils from day to day with a sublime faith in itself, 
until the perfect blossom floats on the surface of the water, 
greets the sunshine and proclaims a victory. 

What the lily does under the blind conduct of natural 
forces we can do under the direction of a pure and simple 
religion. The lily tells us how to reach the highest success 
and shows us that it can be done by itself doing it. 

Instead of deploring our surroundings and assuring our¬ 
selves that our failure comes from lack of opportunity, if we 
were to make the best of what we have and bend our forces 
to changing evil into good we should make such spiritual pro¬ 
gress that the very angels would lend a helping hand, and 
God’s smile of approval would give us the peace that passeth 
understanding. The lily, according to our logic, might very 
reasonably say that since it is embedded in mud we have no 
right to expect anything beyond a noxious weed. We reason 
in that way concerning ourselves and so excuse our short¬ 
comings, forgive ourselves for our paltry deeds and more than 
half believe that God will be equally merciful. But the lily 
pursues a different course with an entirely different result. 
The lily spirit is in the seed and the environment counts for 
nothing. The very slime is compelled to contribute to its holy 
and divine ambition. It disdains the mean and base, or rather 
extracts from the mean and base whatever will add to its 
growth and furnish its perfume. In like manner were we so 


[19] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


minded, and if we made use of the knowledge which God 
is ever ready to impart, we might use the most untoward 
experiences in the formation of a noble character. There is 
no temptation, no rugged portion of our upward climb, no 
sorrow that, like a threatening storm, breaks over our heads, 
no struggle that taxes our endurance to the utmost, which 
cannot be made to add energy to the soul. We must create 
greatness and goodness out of what we have, not out of 
what we wish we had. There is no life so lowly that it can¬ 
not be grand, and there is no condition which will not bring 
you nearer to heaven, if you master it instead of allowing 
it to master you. The heart makes the life, not the life 
the heart. If you are embittered by your hard experiences it 
is because you are looking through the wrong pair of eyes. 

An embittered lily because it grows in the slime! No 
fragrance, because its root is embedded in the mud! A 
despairing soul, because life is hard, or because, you cannot 
have what you want or think you deserve, or what you envy 
in others! That is not religion; it is infidelity. That in¬ 
dicates a distrust of yourself, and, worse still, a distrust of 
God, since He has seen fit to surround you with hardships. 
You are able to do His will, and that will ought to be your 
will. No matter where you are or what you are, or by what 
circumstances you are environed, you are God’s child, the 
angels are your friends, and, by and by, when you look back 
from the other shore, you will see that the heavy hand was 
the wise and kindly hand. 

In pondering over this portion of young McCormick’s 
career, I must confess a decided preference for the virgin lily 
as the only symbol that fully expresses the stainlessness of his 
life. The family had moved from Des Moines to Seattle, the 
rapidly growing metropolis of the Northwest: and the lad, 

[20] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


surrounded by the best of influences at home, was neverthe¬ 
less daily exposed to the many moral dangers that lurk, like 
the soot and smoke, about most large industrial centers. Yet 
he led a charmed life. Like the lily, he appeared immune 
from all devastating forces and, by a subtle alchemy, was 
able to transmute these temptations into material for the 
upbuilding of his virgin life. The “subtle alchemy” was 
his strong, simple Faith—and his watchfulness. 

Faith! His was the kind that moves mountains. At the 
time of which we write, Adrian attended the parochial school 
conducted by the Dominican Sisters in the Sacred Heart 
Parish of the Redemptorist Fathers, Sixth Avenue and Bell 
Street. It was customary on Friday at the Catechism class 
to read to the children the gospel for the following Sunday, 
and to explain the same to the little ones in a manner adapted 
to their comprehension. On a certain Friday the gospel read 
was that of St. Peter walking on the water to meet Jesus. 
The topic of the instruction was faith and St. Peter’s faith. 
In those days the “Queen City” of Seattle had very few 
paved streets even in the very best residential sections; there¬ 
fore the road from the school to Adrian’s home offered the 
boy a splendid opportunity to test his faith. Well, says the 
narrator of this little incident, can she see, after more than 
thirty years, Adrian, as he looked on that particular Friday, 
dressed in a black velvet Fauntleroy suit, starting home full 
of animation. He came to a large pool of water and stood 
gazing at it for a moment. He said the thought came to his 
mind, “If I have faith like St. Peter, I can walk across that 
water.” He made a brave start, but before he was half way 
across he lay at the bottom of the mud pool. What a sight 
he was when he emerged! On returning home he was chided 
for soiling his clothes; but the Prioress of the Dominicans, 

[21] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


when she heard the incident, remonstrated with his mother. 
“How could you reprimand a child with Faith like that?” 
she asked: and added that the episode had remained in her 
mind all these years as an example of child-like trust in God, 
and what impressed her most was that Adrian did not blame 
God j:or allowing him to fall into the pond in spite of his 
prayer but said: 

“I fell in because my Faith was not strong enough.” 
The same religious adds that even at the age of seven he 
told her again and again, “Someday I will be a martyr in 
China.” Another incident that reveals his strong faith and 
abiding trust in God occurred when a severe storm overtook 
the steamer they were in while crossing the straits. As the 
waves rolled about the ship, tossing it like a piece of cork, 
hither and thither, his mother became quite alarmed. 
She endeavored to find some means of safety for her 
boy. The child though fully cognizant of his danger, was un¬ 
perturbed. Taking his mother’s hand in his he calmly said: 
“Mother, why are you afraid? Christ walks on the waters 
even as in the days of old. With Him beside us, why should 
we fear?” 

The lad too, was ever on the watch for anything that 
would even remotely endanger the purity of his soul. He 
assiduously avoided all questionable companions and appeared 
able to detect danger from afar. Like the G string of an old 
Strad he was perfectly attuned and responded to the slightest 
touch of the Master’s Hand. 

About this time he received an added spur towards shun¬ 
ning the occasions of sin, (if spur he ever needed), when told 
that in five weeks time — in the glorious month of June — he 
would be allowed to make his first Holy Communion. It is a 
beautiful custom to set aside June, the blood-red month, the 

[22] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


month of roses, the month of the Sacred Heart, as the time for 
innocent hearts to receive for the first time their Lord and 
King. Adrian prepared for the great day with his accustomed 
earnestness and fervor. He had made his confession on many 
occasions before this, but as the time for receiving the Divine 
Guest approached, he “searched Jerusalem with lamps,” in 
his efforts to eliminate the least shadow of sin and adorn his 
soul for the coming of the heavenly Bridegroom. One of 
Adrian’s first teachers, Sr. M. Aloysius, 0. S. D., tells how 
Adrian came to her a few moments after he had left the con¬ 
fessional, and whispered that he must go back again. 

She replied: “No, Adrian, you do not need to go back: 
you prepared well for your confession, and there is no need 
to return so soon.” 

“But, I forgot to tell Father something,” Adrian replied. 

“Even so,” continued Sister, “there is no necessity for 
you to go back. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I must,” insisted Adrian. 

‘ ‘ What is it you forgot ? ’ ’ questioned Sister. 

‘ ‘ I did not tell Father, ’ ’ said Adrian very sorrowfully, ‘ ‘ I 
did not tell him that I sometimes forgot to give my first 
thoughts to God.” For in the eyes of the child this was a 
serious offence and he refused to be comforted until he had 
returned and told it in the confessional. 

At last the long-looked-for day arrived. Adrian arose at 
dawn, and hastened to the church to serve the early Masses 
which preceded the one at which the children were to com¬ 
municate. 

“Through the lapse of years,” writes an eyewitness, 
“through the lapse of years the scene lives in the memory of 
those who were present. Never has a more beautiful sight 
been seen than, when after the sacred moment of Communion, 

[23] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Adrian’s innocent holy face turned from that altar. I can 
see him now, so rapt in God, more angel than child, and the 
loveliness of that scene can never fade from my mind! ’ ’ 

Let us turn reverently away, and not attempt to unveil 
the mystery of that first meeting between the Heart of Jesus 
and its child-lover. It is too sacred a tryst for human eyes to 
witness; yet this we know that, in a letter written to the Pro¬ 
vincial, the Reverend Richard A. Gleeson, at the time of 
ordination asking permission to go on the foreign missions, 
Adrian states: “There is nothing ephemeral about this desire 
of mine; for on the day of my first Holy Communion I asked 
of God the grace to be a missionary and a martyr, and I have 
chosen China as the place best suited for obtaining the crown 
I earnestly long for. ’ ’ 

“Many waters cannot quench charity, neither can the 
floods drown it: if a man should give all the substance of his 
house for love, he shall despise it as nothing.” In all 
probability the boy had never heard these words, but he had 
experienced already the truth of them; for love — love unto 
death — had been promised in that first Eucharistic embrace, 
and many waters could not quench it, neither could the floods 
drown it. Irrevocably he took his stand and, with the apostle 
of the Gentiles, demanded: “Who shall separate me from the 
love of Jesus Christ?” And to show that he was in earnest, 
he set to work systematically to root out his faults and imper¬ 
fections, especially his proneness to anger. The Sacred Heart 
was to him a real, living Friend, a Companion, a Consoler. 
To Him he took all his childhood troubles, nor did the intimacy 
with which he was accustomed to speak and act towards the 
Master detract in any way from the reverence due the Real 
Presence. Those who saw this fervent acolyte in the sanctuary 
would ask his name, and when questioned as to the reason of 

[24] 



Adrian as an altar boy 








ONCE UPON A TIME 


their inquiry, would reply: “Because he is so holy!” They 
would even endeavor to be present at the Masses he served, for 
the singular grace and discernment which he had for his 
Eucharistic Lord showed in his countenance and in his man¬ 
ner of serving Mass. 

In those days — and, in fact, all through life, Adrian 
possessed a clear sweet voice. It went with his face and the 
general fashion of him as aptly as the music of old songs goes 
with the words. Naturally he was placed in the children’s 
choir. But the lad seemed out of place and vaguely discon¬ 
tented. Those from the highlands, we are told, seldom become 
used to the plains. They are always pining for the hills they 
left behind. And so it was with our little friend. They were 
obliged to allow him to go back to the ranks of the acolytes, 
for he said: “I am too lonely so far away from the altar.” 
And with the acolytes he remained from that day until as a 
postulant he begged admission into the Society of Jesus. 


[ 25 ] 





) 


t 















THE SECOND PART 

Boyhood Days 

“Behold the dreamer cometh.” 


Gen. xxxvii. 19. 



CHAPTER I 


“There were giants in those days.” 

H UMDRUM is not where you live: it’s what you are. My 
young Indian friend, Ignatia, lives in very prosaic sur¬ 
roundings. A large government school has few attractions for 
her. Rather disgustedly she rises in the early morning when 
the first bugle sounds: and all through the long hours of the 
day, she dutifully sticks to her task, whether it be learning the 
mysteries of English in the school room, or, preferably, work¬ 
ing leisurely with the sewing class where there is a chum of 
hers and where the rule of silence is not so rigidly enforced. 
Many a valiant effort she makes to concentrate her thoughts 
on the work before her, but, brave little maiden though she 
be, I must confess that she generally fails, — her heart is not 
in her task. She would much prefer to be allowed to lounge 
on the grass with a fairy book in her hands, or gaze wistfully 
at the birds and bees with envy in her little heart at the care¬ 
free life they lead. She seldom leaves the grounds except to 
pay an occasional visit to the parish house. Fenced in by 
circumstance, by frowning walls and tiresome regulations, her 
mind nevertheless soars above it all. She suffocates with long¬ 
ing. Her thoughts ever spring towards gorgeous sunsets and 
the ends of rainbows. She flies in dreams across the golden 
south seas to the far countries; and on one memorable day — 
it was a Sunday school picnic at the beach — she transformed 
every old square-rigger that crept down the bay into a Spanish 
galleon. Masts are always dreamy to look at, they have been 
the undoing of many a one older and more staid than my little 


[ 29 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Indian friend. They speak a romance of the sea, of unknown 
lands, of distant forests aglow with tropical colors and abound¬ 
ing in strange forms of life. Hardly any of us but have 
thought that on some day we will go on a long voyage, but the 
years roll on and still we have not sailed. It may please 
Ignatia to learn that her Prince, young McCormick had quite 
a failing — as what real child has not? — for “stories.” I 
think it is Richard Jefferies, who says that those who have an 
imaginative corner in their hearts are better than those who 
have not. They have a shrine, and to a shrine we bring our 
aspirations; there they accumulate and secretly influence our 
lives. He appears to have been especially fond of Jack, the 
Giant Killer; and, after school hours, he would sally forth in 
quest of “giants.” His little sister, Rose, invariably accom¬ 
panied him on these expeditions and neighbors said the two 
looked like Don Quixote and his faithful attendant. Fre¬ 
quently the “giants,” proved too much for our “Jack” and 
his faithful escort. They returned in a rather battered condi¬ 
tion. But what mattered it, if clothes were torn and eyes dis¬ 
colored, provided they had fought courageously — provided 
their hearts were as stout as before—provided their escutcheon 
remained unspotted? 

Like Joseph of old, the young Adrian dreamt many beau¬ 
tiful dreams. They came to him generally in the evening when 
most of his pent-up energy had been spent in the class room or 
romping about with companions on the campus. On such 
occasions even his beloved sister Rose received scant attention. 
He walked home alone, very suddenly; and, taking his favorite 
book, went up to his room and over to a cozy corner where a 
dormer window looked out on the golden west. Very few 
oldsters can look at an orange sunset and not see things. What 
dreams, then, must youth, filled with the intense yearning for 

[ 30 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


future achievements, weave from a like situation? The book 
soon falls listlessly in his lap; and, in place of the written 
page, he sees ships, — his ships. We all have ships which be¬ 
long to some day which is surely going to follow an orange 
sunset, when we will arise, glad in the morning to wave 
them a fond welcome. Adrian watched these ships until — 
until the street lamps began to glimmer like harbor lights and 
the houses rose up in the dark like lumps of rock with gro¬ 
tesque edges: and then — then he lost them! With a sigh he 
arose, threw aside the book, walked down stairs and with 
sparkling eyes, entered again the family circle. 

One dream of Adrian’s in particular centered around that 
charming sketch of the life of Father Rouellot by Hugh Clif¬ 
ford, governor of Borneo. The author describes how, in child¬ 
hood, Father Rouellot shared the popular belief of the in¬ 
habitants of Dinan, in Brittany, that whenever a good deed 
was struck for France and for “le bon Dieu” the heart of the 
town hero, Duguesclin, beats anew with joy. It is just a little 
quiet backwater town where a tradition of this sort would 
take root. A statue of the great hero on horseback stood in 
the center of the old marketplace; and it was but natural for 
young Jean Rouellot, passing daily by the tomb of Bertrand 
Duguesclin to recall the life of that great French commander 
and the nobility of his deeds, he, whose last words were an 
exhortation to the captains about him “never to forget that, 
in whatsoever country they might be making war, churchmen, 
women, children and the poor were not their enemies.” The 
idea of gladdening the heart of Duguesclin gradually took 
entire possession of the young Breton peasant lad. He deter¬ 
mined to strike a lasting blow for France and for “le bon 
Dieu,” and so he entered the seminary, was ordained priest, 
and eventually died a holy death as a missionary in China. 

[31] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Naturally, the tale fired the soul and imagination of a 
child of Adrian’s years. He would outstrip Father Rouellot, 
—he would not only be a missionary in China, but would give 
his life to bring enduring happiness and joy to the heart of 
the famed conqueror of the English. This notion remained 
uppermost in Adrian’s mind until his First Communion day, 
and then the figure of Duguesclin was little by little relegated 
to the background and soon faded entirely from the boy’s 
memory, and in his place appeared the sweet amiable 
Countenance of the Man-God. He would, henceforth, bring 
consolation and joy to the Heart of Christ. This, then, be¬ 
came his aim; this his principal ambition in life. And he 
often said he wished to do something so noble that he would 
hear not the heart of Duguesclin, but the Heart of Jesus 
beating with joy. 

Naturally, his desire to be a priest became stronger and 
more pronounced at this time, since it was a direct means of 
bringing joy to the Heart of his Saviour. The make-believe 
altar of childhood days was substituted for a real one. His 
mother had a carpenter make one and it was placed at one 
end of his room. The boy kept a lamp burning continually 
before it; and it was quite devotional with its two statues of 
our Lady and St. Joseph. He always had the tabernacle door 
draped with the color indicative of the feast. On the day he 
left for the Novitiate at Los Gatos, the color was red, and 
ever after the color on the tabernacle remained as he had 
placed it, symbolic of the crown he so desired. 

Beside the altar Adrian placed a little toy bank and 
wrote above it, “For the Poor!” Many a visitor to the house 
would follow the lad to his chapel, and, after reciting some 
prayers, they placed in the bank whatever loose change they 
had in their pockets. In this way Adrian was able to increase 

[32] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to a considerable extent his kind acts of charity. His success 
in this endeavor suggested new fields. A month later, the 
family were mildly surprised to see another box by the altar 
labeled, ‘ ‘ For the Foreign Missions! ’ ’ This too, received its 
quota of offerings, which were forwarded in due time to head¬ 
quarters. And then came the surprise of all, one morning a 
third receptacle made its appearance marked: “For the 
Support of the Pastor!” Few of the boy’s friends and ac¬ 
quaintances failed to tease him about this last box, yet he 
never took it down.—“See,” said the grown-ups who could 
not hide their smiles,—“see he wants us to support his pas¬ 
tor.” It remained just where he had placed it in spite of the 
many jokes that were leveled at it. This incident would not 
create astonishment in anyone who knew Adrian in after years 
—it would be simply what one might expect from him; for he 
did not appear to have in his character even the shadow of 
human respect. Dreamers, especially when they dream of 
doing great things for God, meet with opposition. Was not 
Joseph then thrown into a well and abandoned by his breth¬ 
ren? That those who wish to live piously in the Lord must 
suffer persecution, was verified in the case of our little Prince, 
even at this early stage of his career. 

About this time another event occurred that brings out 
his utter neglect of the good or bad opinion others might have 
of him. “Sine Timore” were no empty words on the family’s 
coat of arms; the lad lived them out in every action of his 
daily life. The A. P. A. movement was then at its height in 
Seattle, and Adrian, traveling down town on a street car one 
day with his mother, left her side for a moment and took a 
position close to the window on the opposite side of the car. 
They were passing a church a few moments later, and quite 
naturally the boy raised his cap. 

[33] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“So yon are a Papist?” scoffed a man close by. 

“I am a Catholic, sir!’’ replied Adrian without any hes¬ 
itation. 

The man, thinking he was alone, endeavored to browbeat 
the youngster and continued: 

“So you confess your sins to those priests, and they 
repeat all you tell them.” 

“Have you never heard of St. John Nepomucene?’’ ques¬ 
tioned Adrian with vehemence. And then, in the most drama¬ 
tic way, he related the thrilling story of the Martyr of the 
Seal of Confession. The passengers listened with amazement, 
well satisfied at the discomfiture of the boy’s persecutor. 

On other occasions, during this time of bitter feelings 
among neighbors, Adrian was often accosted on his way to Mass 
in the mornings by boys older and much bigger than himself. 
Generally, being fleet of foot, he managed to escape his assail¬ 
ants; but at times he was captured, soundly pummelled and 
sent on his way with the words: “Go now and dress up in 
those girlish things and follow the priest around.” But 
neither threats nor blows could keep him from the service of 
the altar which he loved from his tenderest years, beginning 
to serve Mass as soon as he could lift the missal. His mother 
advised him, under these circumstances, not to enter into 
conversation with such boys, nor listen to the remarks they 
hurled after him. One evening, as Adrian was returning from 
May devotions, a rough boy began to swear and throw stones 
at him. He came running home all out of breath and told 
his mother. She questioned: “What did you do?” 

And Adrian replied: “ I threw a pebble over my shoulder 
and exclaimed, ‘ If thou be Satan, get thee behind me! ’ and 
then I ran—but he ran too. ’ ’ No wonder the poor fellow was 


[34] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


frightened and ran, when he heard Adrian in his most 
dramatic way throwing anathemas at him! 

We often wrongfully associate timidity with the birds 
of the branches and the creatures of the field. We speak of 
the “timid’’ turtle-dove, yet watch this self-same bird in 
danger—in a high wind or a deadly thunder storm, and its 
unruffled calm and lofty courage will put to shame our want 
of confidence in the all-wise Hand of Providence. 

Adrian, though you would fancy him the most timid of 
mortals, possessed this fearlessness of character and in a 
most remarkable degree. It came to him not only from 
natural temperament but from a childlike trust in God. Once 
when he had escaped from a physical danger, his mother said 
to him: “Adrian, what would you ever do without your 
mother? I foresee dangers which you could never foresee.” 

“Well, Mamma,” he said, “God gave you to me and if 
He had not given you to me, He would have given me some¬ 
thing else.” 

One of his first teachers, a Dominican nun, said: “ I feel 
certain that he took the confidence of his childhood, unaltered, 
to the judgment seat of God.” 

“I saw Adrian many times in dangers,” writes his sister 
Rose,—“dangers on sea, on land, dangers from death in sick¬ 
ness, and I never saw him falter or lose his peaceful confiding 
manner. As a child he was so sure of his own courage that 
he would frighten me with stories of ghosts, yet they had no 
effect on himself. He was not more than seven when his 
little pony strayed into a neighboring wood. They had put 
me on behind just to ride up and down before the house. The 
woods were not far, but the stubborn pony came to a fallen 
log and would neither go backwards or forwards. Adrian 
whipped him for a long time in vain, and then he said very 

[35] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


calmly: ‘Rosie, we will have to stay here on the pony all 
night; Papa will come in the morning and bring us home,’ 
And he meant every word he uttered.” 

At the time of the great California earthquake in 1906, 
Adrian was in the novitiate at Los Gratos. Those of us who 
were there then will remember what a severe shock the old 
building received. Almost the entire wall of the third floor 
where the novices lived fell in and created no little panic 
among the young men who witnessed this startling event. 
However, it did not seem to bother Adrian at all. He calmly 
went on dressing and at the usual time came down to make 
his visit to the Blessed Sacrament. He acted in the same 
serene peaceful way during the following days while San 
Francisco was burning, though he knew his family were in 
danger and no word could reach him. 

And so, when the King saw what a brave little follower 
this Prince was, and how willing he was to undergo hardships 
in His service, He drew him closer and closer to His side. And 
the lad in turn had the happiness of feeling that his dreams 
were being fulfilled; and these dreams of spiritual greatness 
which the saints have realized, like the dreams of poets, are 
the heritage of posterity. 

“I hang mid men my needless head, 

And my fruit is dreams, as theirs is bread: 

The goodly men and the sun-hazed sleeper 

Time shall reap; but after the reaper 

The world shall glean of me, me the sleeper.” 


[36] 


CHAPTER II 


“And I have known that there was no better thing than to 
rejoice, and to do well in this life.” Eccles. hi. 12. 

I N WRITING the life of a servant of God, one must ever 
be on his guard not to build up a character of his own 
imaginings, — a subjective individual utterly at variance 
with the objective personality. Many a biographer — and he 
be gifted with a vivid imagination — has assumed to himself 
rather the part of a romancer than a narrator of cold, his¬ 
torical facts. 

And, of a truth, it is a delightful role to play. The poet 
in Fairyland builds up out of nothing impossible men and 
preternaturally beautiful women. He rewards and punishes. 
At the critical moment, he hands out to the impoverished 
heroine hundreds and hundreds of dollars that cannot buy 
a cream tart at the confectionery store. He is absolute in 
his own domain, untrammeled, unrestrained. Yet, neverthe¬ 
less, he is dissatisfied; he would like to slip unnoticed into 
another realm — the realm of truth and of facts. 

In what we have previously written of the childhood of 
Adrian McCormick, since many of these events are rather 
unusual in the life of a normal Catholic boy of the twentieth 
century, there may be those who consider we are indulging 
in a little romance, that we are building up a fictitious char¬ 
acter, albeit a saintly one. But such is not the case. Adrian 
from his earliest years kept close, very close to God, yet this 
did not prevent him from taking part in various forms of 
amusement and thoroughly enjoying them. Though it was 


[37] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


a frail mold that housed his soul, he more than made up for 
any lack of physical strength by the tremendous nervous 
energy he brought to all the sports he engaged in. In time 
of play he was utterly oblivious of everything else, and by 
his perseverance and determination became quite proficient 
in many forms of athletics. He was a good swimmer and 
diver, and in after years, when the family moved to San 
Francisco he would rise about six in the morning and walk 
to the Dolphin Club at the foot of Van Ness Avenue near 
Fort Mason and plunge into the bay. This required consid¬ 
erable courage, especially in winter mornings when the 
weather was cold and dark and raw. He was also fond of 
rowing and fishing and was a real baseball enthusiast. 

When the lad was ten years old, he was engaged to 
sing at a concert in which some of the best musicians had 
united to make it a musical event for the Northwest. 
“Seattle’s Boy Soprano,” as Adrian was then called, had 
rehearsed his pieces and was thoroughly prepared for the 
occasion. The day of the concert came, but it was not the 
concert that was nearest Adrian’s heart, but rather a base¬ 
ball game with the little boys of the neighborhood. He 
played with his wonted fiery energy, and when the game 
was over, threw himself on the ground to cool off. He was 
greatly overheated and, as a consequence, took a severe cold. 
To the disappointment of many it was announced that he 
could not fill his numbers on the programme that evening. 
There was no boy soprano, but then life has its recompenses 
for a boy; the baseball game had been played and won. 

At this time Adrian was made much of. Whenever he 
appeared before an audience the applause was great and the 
floral offerings many and varied. It was heavenly to hear 
him sing Gounod’s Ave Maria. He put into it all the beauty 

[38] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of his voice, the purity of his young soul and his passionate 
love of Our Lady. But as the above-mentioned incident 
shows, the crowded theatre and the footlights and the clap¬ 
ping of hands did not spoil him; he remained a real boy with 
all a boy’s frankness and candor and innocence. 

As a small lad he was always having plays, entertain¬ 
ments, boxing or fencing contests at his home. And then 
the long-looked-for day when the circus came to the city! 
He was up and off to see the parade hours and hours before the 
time assigned for it, watched it pass with wondering eyes, and 
then religiously followed the retreating calliope to the 
grounds where he spent the afternoon among the menagerie. 

As he advanced in years he delighted in seeing the great 
actors, especially in Shakespearian roles. Tragedy he liked 
best of all for, from the time he was a baby, nothing could 
be too tragic for the youngster. This leaning towards the 
dramatic remained with Adrian in the after years. The 
scholastics would often coax him onto the stage and call for 
one of his recitations. And in his sermons, when a priest, 
though his earnestness and fervor overshadowed all else, 
there could still be easily detected in his gestures and man¬ 
ner of expression traces of his early love for dramatics. In 
one of his sermons during the last mission he gave, an eye¬ 
witness described the powerful picture he drew of Our Lady 
as the Refuge of Sinners. With a heart glowing with fervor 
Adrian spoke of Mary’s part in the crucifixion on Calvary 
and bade all his hearers look beneath Our Blessed Mother’s 
mantle where were gathered all the sinners of the world. 
No one that evening doubted the young priest’s love of Mary 
when he exhorted them to confidence in her and thrilled 
them with the words: “Look! — look and see what She has 
taken in place of her Divine Son!” 

[39] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


In the mind of Adrian relaxation whether physical or 
intellectual — was just as serious a task as going to school 
or obeying one’s parents. St. Aloysius’ remark that he was 
as well prepared to die immediately following the close of 
recreation as at any other period of the day, impressed 
young McCormick quite profoundly. It was a favorite quo¬ 
tation of his during novitiate days: and whenever, during a 
ball game at Los Gatos, an excitable novice protested too 
strenuously against the solemn pronouncements of a somewhat 
fallible umpire, Adrian would be sure to single out the 
offender later on and explain to him the sacredness and the 
seriousness of play time in the curriculum of a Jesuit. And 
this he did in such an humble, inoffensive way that no one 
could take umbrage at his words. I do not mean to infer 
that Adrian took no natural delight in sports, — he did. 
He would remain for hours on the hand-ball courts when 
attending school at old St. Ignatius, and many an evening it 
was darkness alone that prevented himself and companions 
from continuing the game and not lack of interest or of 
energy. But what I do wish to say is that young McCormick 
besides taking a boy’s pleasure in the various games he in¬ 
dulged in, was ever careful to remember that recreation was 
not an end in itself but only a means towards the goal he 
had in view —- the greater service of His Lord and King. 

For this reason we find him very loath to omit any of 
the physical exercises he had determined upon. He even 
made out a schedule for himself in order that the time 
allotted to recreation might not be curtailed. Adrian, in an 
unguarded moment, let this horarium fall out of his pocket 
one day at school, and the precious document was picked up 
by a Philistine in the person of a mischievous boy. Frantic 
over the loss of his treasure, Adrian ran after his tormentor 

[40] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and tried hard to recover it, but his efforts were in vain. 
The Philistine eluded him and, ascending an improvised 
platform, gathered all the boys in the yard about him with 
the announcement that he had a wonderful document to 
read to them. 

“Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant!” There 
was only one dissenting voice, — the voice of Adrian de¬ 
manding the return of his schedule. Of course the wag 
exaggerated and brought into play the little Latin he had 
been able to master. He spoke of the great historical value 
of the document he had in his hands, and mentioned that 
what made it especially interesting to the profano vulgo, and 
gave to it a decidedly human touch came from the fact that 
the author had not failed to mention in his horarium the 
necessity of taking refreshments every half hour. Adrian 
had a pet rabbit at home; and had kept the little animal for 
five or six years, teaching it many tricks so that Benjamin (as 
he was called) could almost talk. It was Adrian’s duty to 
feed the rabbit every morning and to split some kindling 
for the housekeeper. He left the house quite early as it was 
about a two-mile walk to school and, on mornings when he 
went swimming, he often feared he would forget the rabbit 
and the kindling and so had marked on the schedule, 
“7:30A.M. Split the kindling. 

8:00 A. M. Feed the Rabbit. ’ ’ 

The Philistine had quite an imagination and began: 

“ 6 :00 A. M. Refreshments. 

6:30 A.M. Refreshments. 

7 :00 A. M. Ablutions. 

7:30 A. M. Split the Rabbit. 

8:00 A. M. Feed the Kindling, 


[41] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


8:30 A. M. Refreshments. 

9 :00 A. M. Ablutions. 

9:30 A. M. More refreshments. 

10:00 A. M. Still more refreshments.’’ 

Adrian had to listen to all this before he could induce 
his tormentor to return the paper. It was a real trial for 
him, for he considered the little schedule as something 
sacred, having made it out that he might remember his 
various duties and perform them all for the honor and glory 
of God. But instead of an outburst of temper, Adrian 
showed a wonderful patience; and in spite of- his chagrin, 
good naturedly told the joke on himself later on. 


[42] 


CHAPTER III 


“Instruct thy son, and he shall refresh thee and shall give 


delight to thy soul.” 


Prov. xxix. 17. 


S WELL-REGULATED exercise of the body is indis- 



Ji jl pensable to health and strength, as the use of the 
mental faculties according to established laws of graded 
study, from the kindergarten to the university, has its re¬ 
sult in intellectual vigor, so the proper direction of the will 
in cultivating the habits of right choice secure that moral 
training of character without which man is little better than 
an empty bag, which as G. D. Prentice said, “is incapable of 
an upright position.’’ We will multiply our colleges and 
universities in vain; our educational centers wherein are 
trained the mind, eye, and character, will become boom¬ 
erangs reacting on the heads of those who planned them, 
unless we provide for the education of the will, without 
which character is absolutely useless. Many an otherwise 
strong life breaks down at this point. Incredible misfor¬ 
tunes, commercial ruin and personal disaster imperil the un¬ 
disciplined will. 

The parents of young McCormick were well aware of 
the importance of developing will power in their children; 
and so from infancy to early boyhood (those years when a 
lad is almost entirely under the care and guidance of par¬ 
ents) Adrian was gently but firmly taught to respect the 
wishes and obey the commands of those set over him. Else¬ 
where we have mentioned his violent manifestations of tem¬ 
per as a child. These were a real handicap and a great 


[43] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


source of humiliation to his sensitive soul. They left him 
physically weak and morally despondent. In other sur¬ 
roundings and without the aid of religion the boy might 
have turned out entirely different. But the order and dis¬ 
cipline at home, his frequent prayers and reception of the 
Sacraments, gradually conquered this weakness. There was 
too much real gold in his character to be permanently 
affected by any baser metal. Obstacles are not so much a 
hindrance to the generous soul as they are stepping stones 
in the pursuit of his aim in life. Sub pondere cresco (“I 
grow under a weight/’) is as true today as when first 
uttered. There must be a continual plowing and harrowing 
before the field is ready for the grain. The loveliest flowers 
we see have their roots in common earth; and so many of 
the sweetest victories in life grow out of the soil of every¬ 
day drudgery. “Be thou, 0 man, like unto the rose. Its 
root is indeed in dirt and mud, but its flowers still send forth 
grace and perfume. ” 

That Adrian had made considerable progress in the 
work of subduing his predominant fault may be gleaned 
from an incident that occurred when he was about eight 
years old and a pupil of the Dominican Sisters in Seattle. 
His mother had a very warm coat which she made over into 
a winter jacket for Adrian. It fitted him well but she could 
not entirely conceal the place where she had sewed up the 
large pockets. The boys at school noticed this and, gath¬ 
ering around young McCormick, made fun of him and called 
out: “He has his mother’s coat on!” 

In other days Adrian would have given way to a violent 
fit of anger, and perhaps, as an outlet for his temper, venture 
a fistic encounter with the ringleader, but on this occasion he 


[44] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


quietly and calmly replied: “Yes, it is my mother’s coat; and 
I am proud of it! ” 

A short time afterwards, when the good Sisters told his 
mother about the incident, she approached Adrian and en¬ 
deavored to obtain his consent to let her buy a new coat, hut 
the lad replied; “No, mother, I like this coat best of all.” 
The coat offered untold possibilities to Adrian for conquer¬ 
ing himself, and that was the sole reason why he liked it. 
Even at this early period he was “zealous for the better 
gifts.” 

In those days, too, his mother often cut his hair. He 
never raised any objections although the cut was by no 
means perfect. The hoys teased him about it; but Adrian 
remained calm and unperturbed. 

“Oh, look at him, his mother cut his hair!” they said. 

“Yes, she did,” answered Adrian; “don’t you wish you 
had a mother like mine?” 

It is a common opinion that generosity consists mainly 
in giving. The generous man, it is said, is one who is always 
ready to impart that which he has to those who need it. He 
is bountiful in hospitality, liberal in his gifts, munificent in 
his charities. He is willing to give his time, as well as his 
money, to impart knowledge to the ignorant, counsel to the 
erring, sympathy to the sorrowing. Whatever powers he 
may possess, he uses freely for the sake of others, and his 
affections, which are deep and strong, descend upon thirsty 
souls to bless and invigorate, as the gentle rain descends 
upon the earth to purify it, to refresh and make it fruitful. 
Surely no one can fail to admire such open-handed and large- 
hearted generosity, nor hastily criticise in such a person a 
supposed deficiency. 


[45] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


And yet there is another part of generosity which at 
first sight may seem to require no urging, but which in truth 
is frequently lost sight of entirely, the generous acceptance. 
In point of fact, it is much more difficult to accept things in 
the right spirit than it is to play the role of Prince Bountiful 
and bestow favors with a lavish hand on all sides. The one 
feeds, as a general rule, our vanity and pride, the other is 
built upon a very solid foundation — the foundation of 
humility and of self-abnegation. 

To see the Hand of God in the slighting remark, in the 
bitter retort, in the words of disparagement and smilingly to 
accept these without holding rancor or hatred in your heart 
against the offender,—this we might expect in an old ma¬ 
ture religious but to witness it in a lad of his years is unusual 
indeed. Young McCormick was generous, — generous with 
God, generous in accepting the crosses His Creator deemed 
fit to send his way. And in return the Holy Spirit taught 
him the lesson it takes most of us a lifetime to learn—and 
even then it is imperfectly grasped — the “Abstine et Sus- 
tine” of the spiritual combat. We often remark of a foot¬ 
ball player, of a pugilist, that he has a great capacity for 
punishment. Adrian was one of God’s athletes, and as such 
possessed the power of assimilating rebuffs and criticisms in 
a most remarkable degree. Naturally, as Divine Providence 
so orders events in such cases, humiliations were never lack¬ 
ing to the lad. His companions at school, seeing that he 
never resented their rebuffs, began to impose more and more 
on what they considered his good nature. They used him as 
a kind of buffer between themselves; and at last, discovering 
that no amount of ill-treatment could discourage him or dis¬ 
turb his peace of soul, they ended by considering him as 
rather queer and unusual. There must be something wrong 

[46] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


with a boy who never resented an injury, and so they gave 
him the sobriquet of “Bugs.” Later on in life, when a 
Jesuit, Adrian had much the same attitude to contend against 
or rather to contend with. Even in the cloister there will 
always be found a few worldly-minded religious to sneer at 
the fervent and criticise their efforts towards perfection. 
The wheat and cockle grow in the garden of monastic life as 
well as in the less cultivated fields of the world. And the 
Master’s wish was that no radical action should be taken in 
respect to either, “Suffer both to grow until the harvest.” 
The good are aided by such opposition,—kites fly not with 
the wind but against it; and the bad — they are not really 
bad but frivolous and unmindful of the obligations of their 
state in life — are assisted in spite of themselves by the ex¬ 
ample of the good. Perhaps in the days to come, like the two 
Pauls of history, — like Paul of Tarsus and Paul, the brother 
of St. Stanislaus—, these men will be all the more fervent 
and all the more humble from having persecuted the servants 
of God. 

Besides Adrian’s faculty of accepting crosses, he had an 
almost unlimited power of buoyantly bearing up under all 
the opposition he met. There are some phlegmatic characters 
who are rather automatons than human beings, individuals 
who are so thoroughly wrapped up in one object that they 
cannot be brought to realize there is opposition in the world, 
for, to them, the world does not exist. They are utterly 
oblivious of the actions of their fellow men, as completely 
shut off from outside influences as the silkworm in its cocoon. 
Such people remind one very much of the boy who habitually 
carries a baseball glove on his belt. If any occurrence 
happens to claim his attention, he immediately dismisses it 
as entirely worthless, and goes to pounding his glove all the 

[47] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


harder to recall to his mind the one object of his life — base¬ 
ball. We do not credit such people for their forgiving nature 
any more than we credit the cork for floating on the water. 

But with Adrian it was different. He had a deep, re¬ 
fined sensitive nature, and, humanly speaking, was keen to 
resent a wrong and slow to forgive an injury. I have read 
somewhere that it is the kind who need kindness most. This 
especially applied to young McCormick. He was very sus¬ 
ceptible to kindness, and his eyes would fill at the mention 
of a good deed or on witnessing a charitable act. Such a 
nature feels keenly a studied slight or a deliberate injustice. 
And one of the strongest proofs we have at this period of the 
lad’s career that he habitually acted from supernatural mo¬ 
tives occurred after he had graduated from the parochial 
school conducted by the Dominican Sisters on 6th Avenue 
and Bell Streets, and was enrolled as a pupil of the Jesuits 
at Seattle College. 

This incident stands out in the career of young Mc¬ 
Cormick as a striking contrast—a contrast between the fiery, 
impetuous child and the boy subdued by grace. “Adrian,” 
writes his sister, Rose, — “Adrian was thirteen years old and 
a pupil at Seattle College. During the school year he had 
led in nearly all the branches of study. His reports bore 
testimony to it, and he knew he merited most of the prizes 
at the close of the term. He called me aside one evening and 
told me of his joy; and he wished my parents to take me with 
them to the Commencement exercises as he wanted me there 
when he received the prizes. The names were called for the 
highest merits in the different subjects, but Adrian’s name 
was mentioned only once. I think it was for the medal in 
Christian Doctrine. All the others — which he knew he had 
so justly deserved — were awarded to others. He looked 


[48] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


so bewildered, so surprised, but no other emotion mani¬ 
fested itself. 

“Following the distribution of prizes, he was called 
upon to recite. He did so with that wondrous gift of 
declamation which even then was his. No tone of disappoint¬ 
ment appeared in his voice — he was magnificent. Father 
Albert Trivelli, S. J., who was present, said later, ‘I am a 
man and have been many years a Jesuit, but I could never 
have spoken under such conditions, — my voice would have 
failed me.’ 

“The Fathers had not time, it seems, to make any ex¬ 
planation before the exercises, but that afternoon one came 
over to the house to tell us that, as Adrian stood highest in 
almost every branch, the medals were to be given to him. 
However, they thought it best at the last moment to count 
him out of the competition, since he was so far in advance of 
the others in his class who were nearly all older than he. The 
College was then in a struggling condition; and, if all the 
prizes were given to Adrian, the parents of the other pupils 
would feel that favoritism had been shown, and this would 
work disaster to the school. I can recall the deep impres¬ 
sion Adrian’s behavior made on me that day. Of course I 
was grieved. I could hardly keep from crying, for I shared 
so intimately all his joys and sorrows, and I said: ‘You told 
me you were going to have those medals!’ ‘I was sure I 
was,’ he replied: ‘I just do not know what happened.’ I 
shall never forget the gentle tone of his voice or how sweet 
and patient he looked. At the time I was not old enough to 
appreciate his virtue; in fact I was almost sorry he did not 
deliver one of those fiery impromptu pleas for justice which 
I had often heard before, but no, Adrian was silent under the 
unexpected blow. He did not even seek to find out the 

[ 49 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


reasons for his disappointment. The Fathers, of their own 
accord, explained the affair and said they really should have 
done so before the distribution, but it had escaped them, and 
surely this omission was in the designs of Providence to give 
an example of Adrian’s virtue. ’ ’ 

And this was the lad who a couple of years before 
would have broken out into an uncontrollable fit of anger 
under similar conditions, and, in a petulancy, smashed to 
smithereens his toys and playthings. 


[ 50 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


“My son, from thy youth up receive instruction, and even to 
thy grey hairs thou shalt find wisdom. Come to her as one 
that plougheth and soweth, and wait for her good fruits, 
for in working about her thou shalt labour a little and shall 
quickly eat of her fruits.” Eccles. vi. 18-20. 

T HERE appears to be a quite prevalent opinion among 
the younger generation that education is a thing to ac¬ 
quire in a hurry, something to have done with as soon as 
possible, like the measles. They have not acquired the habit 
of study. As individuals we are as bright and quick-witted 
intellectually as Europeans; but we do not seem to have their 
stick-at-it-ness. As soon as school closes we, for the most part, 
discard our books and throw off that atmosphere of study 
which should continually envelope the real student. And 
when graduation comes, the line of demarcation is even more 
pronounced. To the sympathetic observer, listening to the 
young men in cap and gown as they read their essays on the 
art of government and the relation of the passages in the 
pyramids to the astronomic theories of the Chaldeans, it would 
seem as if the work of the school was just about to begin. It 
is sad to relate that in many cases it not only ceases but the 
scholar goes backward. This does not mean simply that he 
forgets what has been taught him, for much that we go 
through in schools is for training, not remembrance: but he 
forgets the influences that have surrounded him, he forgets 
to follow those subjects for which he has a natural bent and 
which are a source of pure pleasure and profitable research. 
One does not act thus on entering the business world 


[ 51 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


with a fixed purpose. He knows that his preparation is never 
complete; that he must always study, examine, inquire; that 
he could not know all that is to be known about a subject 
if his lifetime were doubled. That man may well be alarmed 
who discovers that he has ceased to grow; that he no longer 
profits by new experiences; that he can no longer apply him¬ 
self with energy and interest to fresh subjects; for such a 
man is dead even though it may be many years before they 
carry him to the cemetery. 

After falling into good business habits not one man in 
a thousand tries to fall out of them. Why should it be other¬ 
wise in respect to education? If one were to take but a half 
hour out of the twenty-four, he would before long be a master 
of a theme, a man of note in his specialty. He could com¬ 
mand a language, or a science, or an art, and, best of all, 
double his own usefulness and happiness. And that is the 
main thing; to increase content. There is no satisfaction in 
stagnation. It breeds foulness and pollution. But there is 
a great joy of spirit in the knowledge that we are of use to 
our fellows, and that our lives are not in vain. 

What impressed even a casual observer of young Mc¬ 
Cormick at this period of his career was the fact that he was 
a model student. Naturally bright above the ordinary, he 
added to this gift a tenacity of purpose and a perseverance in 
his studies that simply made it impossible for him to be a 
failure in class. The family had moved from Seattle to San 
Francisco, and Adrian faithfully attended school at old St. 
Ignatius. Outside of the time spent in taking the exercise 
he deemed necessary for his physical well-being, there was 
little else to distract him from his love of books. It is true 
his fellow students accused him of having a sweetheart, of 
taking walks with a young lady; but his little sweetheart 

[ 52 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


proved to be sister Rose, who also was attending an academy- 
in the vicinity, and whom he escorted home daily. Many a 
pleasant hour and profitable one, too, they spent in one an¬ 
other’s company. There was so much in common between 
them,—things bearing directly or indirectly on their school 
life and serving to accentuate the atmosphere of study that 
surrounded them during class hours. The day’s happenings 
and how they had conducted themselves, their lessons, their 
ambitions and the obstacles they met with in realizing them,— 
these and many other topics occupied their attention, tighten¬ 
ing, while it spiritualized, the natural bond that united them. 

I have often wondered where Adrian acquired those 
gentle, low tones and that wonderful facility in conversing 
which readily distinguished him from others. And I think 
we can safely ascribe it to the influence and companionship 
of his younger sister. We, who have constantly associated 
with boys not alone at school but likewise with our brothers 
at home, are liable to be boisterous and noisy. It’s the mark 
of our tribe. But a sister’s presence counteracts this ten¬ 
dency, awakening those gentler and finer feelings which other¬ 
wise would only be partially developed. I fancy it was thus 
with Adrian; at all events the fact remained he was gifted 
with a low gentle voice and had charming conversational 
powers. 

There was a time and that not so very long ago, when 
men and women aspired to be brilliant talkers. They not 
only aspired but actually succeeded in attaining the object 
of their desires. There was no gathering without its galaxy 
of notables who could entertain the whole company with their 
tongue. And yet nowadays, though reading is more common 
than formerly, and, though a man full of ideas ought to find 
an entertaining means of expressing them, we must admit 

[ 53 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


that conversational ability has not kept pace with this diffu¬ 
sion of knowledge. It may be that business and professional 
activities have so absorbed men ’s energies that they find them¬ 
selves unequal to the task of taking their social duties seri¬ 
ously; nevertheless, thinking men and women will regret 
the passing of conversation as an art; for there is nothing 
so pleasant as to listen to one whose fluency of language, com¬ 
bined with originality of thought and ingenuity of expres¬ 
sion, marks him as the artistic talker. 

Another contributing cause to Adrian’s success as a 
conversationalist might be due to the time he devoted to the 
editing at this period of a little college paper. His parents 
had purchased a juvenile printing press for his use; and the 
lad spent hours and hours thumbing the dictionary for new 
words, rewriting notices and endeavoring to make his “sheet” 
as presentable as possible. It was a proud day for Adrian 
when he was able to insert a number of copies of his paper 
between the leaves of his school books and bring them to the 
college to be distributed gratis among the students. Shortly 
after this, the “sheet” began to appear weekly; and a con¬ 
siderable number of his schoolmates looked forward with a 
great deal of interest to its perusal. His triumph, however, 
was of short duration, for a few weeks later another sheet 
made its appearance on the campus, much to the discomfiture 
of Adrian. This rival editor flayed him unmercifully for 
being too egotistical; and submitted as proof a number of 
quotations from news items that young McCormick had 
printed. A prima-facie glance at these lines would seem to 
bear out the contention of Adrian’s adversary. 

“The editor spent the week-end at Sausalito.” 


[ 54 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


‘ ‘ The editor, accompanied by his parents, went to the 
theatre last evening, heartily enjoying Joseph Jefferson’s ren¬ 
dition of Rip Van Winkle.” 

“The editor, from recent observations during practice, 
predicts a very successful season for our college foot-hall 
squad. ’ ’ 

“The editor suggests that more interest be taken in the 
newly reorganized Debating Society.” 

But then it must be borne in mind that news items, to 
a young collegian in the first throes of writing for the pub¬ 
lic, are toothsome morsels. He pounces upon them eagerly, 
giving little or no thought to the manner in which they are 
written up. He lives in a world apart, and tells of those 
things which interest him most, though others be not in the 
least concerned about his doings and about his opinions. 

“The College Student,” or “The College News,”—it 
went by some title of that sort—began, like other publications 
of its kind, with high hopes and strong enthusiasm; but then 
adversities came, difficulties arose, until finally Adrian’s 
grand scheme was entirely abandoned. 

Now and then, while rummaging through his notes and 
letters, we come across a stray leaf, or an allusion to that first 
literary effort,—mute souvenirs of the dear dead past, silent 
witnesses to his active mind and tireless energy,—but some¬ 
how they depress us and dim our eyes; for the busy hands 
are now stilled forever, and that hopeful buoyant heart beats 
no more; the Prince has gone Home. And we who are left 
behind must need travel along without the aid of his cheery 
smile and winning ways—one misses the verdant leaf torn 
by the blast from the oak tree; but nevertheless, invisible and 
by his example, he beckons to us still, he lights up our path¬ 
way, he tells of the eternal beauties of his Home, and whispers 

[ 55 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


in our ears the salutary truth that we are “exiled children 
of the skies.” 

One substantial benefit Adrian derived from the little 
printing press was the training it gave him in seeking re¬ 
laxation and pleasure along innocent, useful lines. We all 
know that the only way to purify a stream is to purify its 
source. And yet in human affairs, at least in practice, we act 
as if this same law did not hold good. We see with sorrow 
all kinds of faults and errors in our land, and proceed, per¬ 
haps with enthusiasm and energy, to grapple with them just 
as they stand; and then we wonder why, with all our diligent 
efforts, we meet with failure. We are trying to sweeten the 
waters of life in mid-stream, while its sources continue to send 
down their corrupting influences. It is true that the quest 
for these sources is by no means an easy task. They are often 
numerous and ramified and complex, and often hidden from 
our view, yet only through patient search for them can we 
hope to remove or lesson the evils we deplore. And while a 
single evil may be traceable to many sources, thus increasing 
the difficulty of dealing with it wisely, it is also a fact that a 
single source may be the fountain head of many evils, and a 
successful warfare upon it may effect more real good than we 
should dream of attempting. 

Among these far removed causes of wrong-doing is one 
seldom recognized—vacuity of mind. We are accustomed to 
think of the vacant mind as a misfortune, reflecting, it is true, 
much discredit upon its possessor, but seldom as a positive 
and prolific source of vice and crime. Yet it undoubtedly is. 
We are not here referring to lack of employment. Idleness, as 
is well known, is the mother of many vices. But there are 
hundreds of hard-working industrious persons who have little 
or no resources for their leisure hours. They need refreshment 

[ 56 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


after labor, recreation; and, not finding these in innocent use¬ 
ful ways, the unoccupied mind becomes a prey to whatever 
chance influence may light upon it. Thus some become victims 
to pernicious literature which inflames the passions and cor¬ 
rupts the mind; some succumb to the pleasures of the cup that 
intoxicates; while others prefer the excitement of gambling. 
Yet it is quite probable that none of these enticements would 
have attracted them, had their minds been active and inter¬ 
ested in better, simpler and purer things. 

Now it is very easy to say that such persons have other 
interests to engage them, and nature’s scenes to look upon 
and music to hear and flowers to cultivate, and plenty of in¬ 
teresting things to do. This is all true but what is forgotten 
in the statement is that it is not the vacant, but the full and 
intelligent mind that fastens with avidity on such pleasures. 
For such recreation requires something positive,—an ear at¬ 
tuned to hear melody, an eye trained to see beauty and a brain 
stimulated to activity in order to enjoy them. That all these 
things are lacking, that the mind is vacant, dull and unin¬ 
spired, is the very cause of the evils we too hastily blame and 
too crudely attempt to cure. The true method of help (and 
methods are numerous) is first to recognize their real origin 
and then to turn our efforts in that direction, always keeping 
in mind that it is not so much a vice to be uprooted, or a 
piece of wrong-doing to be checked, as a positive need to be 
supplied. And it is the path of wisdom and foresight to pro¬ 
vide for that need. 

Up in Montana the farmers must contend against a rather 
common enemy,—the Tumble Weed. This plant derives its 
name from the fact that it tumbles about the fields, driven by 
whatever chance winds may strike it. Once in a dozen moons 
one of these miniature bushes is blown into an anchor,—a 


[57] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


fence corner or a sheltered ledge of rocks where, unlike its 
kind, it ceases its wanderings and remains there until it dies. 

Human society has also to deal with a great number of 
tumble weeds—men with a preponderance of the Gypsy strain 
in their blood—men lacking in responsibility and a prey to the 
chance winds that strike them. And it is the part of society 
to find them an anchor, a place where they may again take 
their bearings, and discover their higher, nobler self. 

Adrian McCormick was greatly blessed above his fellows 
in this respect. Besides the anchorage of Faith, (the unum 
necessarium in his opinion,) besides the anchorage of a good 
home and the privileges of a thorough Catholic education, the 
lad had other sheltered spots and cosy anchorages where he 
spent his time. He had his athletic games, his hours of read¬ 
ing, his little printing press to occupy his attention. These 
things tided him over the dangerous hours of recreation, these, 
in their own sphere, helped to keep him uncontaminated from 
the world until Faith led him at last to the spot his soul 
longed for, the anchorage of religious life. 


[58] 


THE THIRD PART 


Early Religious Life 

“This is my rest for ever and ever: 

Here will I dwell, for I have chosen it.” 

Ps. cxxxi. 14. 




CHAPTER I 


“For other foundation no man can lay, but that which is 
laid; which is Jesus Christ.” I Cor. hi. 2. 

M ANY an afternoon, in my walks across the school 
grounds, bent on interviewing a few absentees of the 
previous Sunday, or it may be, directing my steps to the in¬ 
firmary, where some of my little Indian children are silently 
battling with death, or silently—they are always silent under 
suffering—recovering after a victorious encounter with the 
grim impostor,—many an afternoon I meet Ignatia. She 
trips lightly across the campus and impetuously accosts me 
in the few Spanish words she has learnt to master: ‘ ‘ Adonde, 
Padrecito ? ’ ’ 

Whither! The words startled me the first time she voiced 
them. What is the answer to that ? When you are stopped— 
unexpectedly stopped—in the midway of life by such a ques¬ 
tion, coming from a source like that, you may well pause and 
echo it and perhaps falter for a fit reply. I fancy dear, good, 
generous-hearted Peter must have been somewhat nonplussed 
when that same question was first put to him by the Master 
on the Appian Way. Whither, indeed? We are all journey¬ 
men, actually traveling—whither ? Many would have to 
change directions were they to answer that question honestly. 
They would be obliged to retrace their steps, to leave the desert 
trails and return to the highway they left miles behind. 

With Adrian there was nothing indefinite: he knew just 
where he was going,—to Los Gatos. 

Do you know Los Gatos? If you do, you are rich. Your 
name may not appear in Bradstreets; you may be as poor as 

[61] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


the lone tramp that unstraps his bundle of an evening, cooks 
his frugal repast, and then views the little town from the nar¬ 
row canyon that opens into it, but you are rich in memories, 
memories that haunt you like a fever dream, that cling and 
entwine themselves around the heart like honeysuckle, keep¬ 
ing it fresh and young and fragrant even when the outward 
body may be hastening towards decay. And if you do not 
know it, then you are poor indeed. You are poorer than the 
black-robed figure who has given up the world with its riches, 
and who strolls about the novitiate on the hill up yonder, 
“the world forgetting, by the world forgot.” For it is com¬ 
paratively easy to alleviate and banish material poverty; but 
the modern philanthropist has no power to assuage hunger 
of soul,—that must come from within. 

The Spaniards will tell you that Los Gatos, means, * ‘ The 
Cats.” But they are wrong; Los Gatos, means “magnificently 
beautiful.” It lies, like a wild violet, half-hidden and half- 
forgotten, at the feet of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Ascend 
any of the hills back of the town and the scene will enthrall 
the mind. Below, the peaceful village, dreaming in the after¬ 
noon sun; before you the fertile Santa Clara valley, laid out 
in well-kept orchards like an immense chess-board; on either 
side, the shining mountain tops, with bases shrouded in mists 
of purple and gray; and then beyond and merging with the 
horizon, the restless, deep-blue bay of San Francisco. 

But to the Jesuit, Los Gatos, and its surroundings is an 
inanimate thing; the soul is the Sacred Heart Novitiate. 
Around this hallowed spot all his affections center. Its claus- 
tral gray walls shut out the restlessness and the shallowness 
of the world, and the peace and happiness of the children of 
God take possession of his soul. From this restful viewpoint 
he sees the earth and its grandeurs. Los Gatos may be fair, 

[62] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


superbly fair, yet beyond the shining mountain tops lies an¬ 
other Country, fairer still, whither his thoughts now con¬ 
stantly turn, between whose hills flow the waters of eternal 
life, and, on the banks thereof, walk the Good Shepherd and 
his chosen flock. The novitiate is the young Jesuit’s mother. 

And if in after years he fights a good fight and draws a 
valiant sword in defence of right and justice it is only because 
of the lessons he learnt at this mother’s knees. In success he 
remembers her with gratitude, in failure and temptation he 
thinks of her too, recalling the principles she inculcated in 
those early years of his religious life. Like the homing pigeon, 
his thoughts always turn in weal and woe towards the noviti¬ 
ate. Between a real Jesuit and the walls wherein he was 
trained exists, in a wonderful sense, a spiritual umbilical cord, 
which never can or never should be severed. 

The Novitiate of the Sacred Heart stands above the town. 
Why is it that religious orders, as a general rule, build their 
monasteries on high elevations or on the mountain side ? Is it 
because of the isolation? The noise of the world is seldom 
heard there; and if at all, it comes up softly and subdued 
like a gentle breeze about a hermitage. Or is it that the 
mountains speak more forcibly than the valleys of the other 
world and the things of the soul ? Crag upon crag, peak be¬ 
yond peak, the everlasting hills are “the world’s great altar 
stairs, which slope through darkness up to God.” Some of 
the greatest revelations to man have been made upon a moun¬ 
tain. On a mountain Moses received the Ten Commandments 
and spoke with his Maker. On a mountain Elijah stood and 
heard God’s voice. On a mountain the chosen three saw the 
Master in glory, and begged to be allowed to remain there. 
And, somehow, those whom Christ selected, down the arches 
of the years, for a religious life, have instinctively sought the 

[63] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


mountain, for the mountain speaks of meditation and prayer 
and converse with the Creator. It also tells us that man must 
do his part, small though it be, in going up to God. Christ 
stooped from heaven to visit, to comfort the sons of men, and 
they must do what they can to rise from earth and meet Him 
as He comes “tripping over the mountains.’’ 

It was to this place, then, that Adrian came on the thirti¬ 
eth of July, 1904. We have a picture of him taken at the 
time. He was just twenty-one; and looked out upon the world 
in an innocent, smiling, confident manner that to an oldster 
is always pathetic. For sooner or later, the confident smile 
vanishes, the look of innocence disappears, and the face 
hardens from contact with the world. If I remember right, 
it is Thackeray who exclaims in The New comes, “Oh, to think 
of a young, frank, generous nature, and the world and only 
the world to occupy it! ” 

Thackeray was blessed with considerable knowledge of 
human nature. He was aware that the prizes of life are few, 
and that the world demands too high a price for those she 
bestows upon her votaries,—that, in spite of her large material 
boundaries, the world is quite narrow and small and gener¬ 
ally succeeds in molding her children in the same narrow, 
hard way. 

If non-Catholics then, in rare moments, and from a purely 
natural viewpoint, can see advantages in avoiding the world 
and not mingling in its deceits, is it to be wondered at that 
Catholic parents, seeing earthly things from a supernatural 
coign of vantage, discern in a religious vocation a direct bless¬ 
ing from God, and one not lightly to be cast aside ? 

The parents of young McCormick were too deeply imbued 
with the favor granted them to grieve inordinately over his 
departure. Partings are inevitable in this mutable existence 


[64] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of ours; but this one was sweetened and tempered by the 
thought, that, like the young Tobias, the angel of God was 
accompanying their son; and also that occasionally they would 
be privileged to visit him in his new surroundings. 

Adrian had not only a definite destination in view; he 
had a definite object on arriving at his new abode,—to realize 
as speedily as possible the ideal of a Jesuit as portrayed by 
St. Ignatius in the Spiritual Exercises and in the Rules of the 
Society of Jesus. It is interesting to study the manner in 
which he set about accomplishing this end. There was noth¬ 
ing obtrusive or noisy about his efforts; they were quiet and 
hidden, yet charged with a force capable of sweeping away 
all resistance, like the waters of a river just before breaking 
to the falls. 

The life of a novice is very commonplace and uneventful. 
There is nothing to disturb him, nothing to distract him from 
the main issue. He finds today the same as yesterday; and 
tomorrow, he may be sure, will hold very little in the shape 
of novelty. There are, of course, hours of relaxation, but even 
during these, the religious element is never lost sight of; they 
are given to relax the mind and not to dissipate it. To any¬ 
one, then, who is at all doubtful as to his call to religious life, 
the period of probation is, as it was meant to be, a real test 
of endurance and of stability. While to the novice satisfied 
that he is in the place God wishes him, the novitiate is a rare 
opportunity to conquer self, acquire virtue and accumulate 
merits. It is the power-house wherein is generated the 
heavenly electricity that will keep the soul lighted in the years 
to come. 

Adrian was too fully alive to the grand occasion of lay¬ 
ing the foundation of sanctity which presented itself at this 
time to let any moment of it pass away uselessly. Even the 

[65] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


few minutes intervening between the different spiritual exer¬ 
cises were spent by him in kneeling before the Blessed Sacra¬ 
ment, asking the Man-God for two things, charity and purity 
of heart. It is St. James who tells us that “Religion clean 
and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to visit the 
fatherless and widows in their tribulation, and to keep one’s 
self unspotted from this world.” Adrian had no occasion at 
this period to show his love of God and the neighbor by ex¬ 
ternal acts of charity. I made a mistake in the last remark. 
He did have opportunities of exercising his charity externally. 
Not, it is true, in the sense of being allowed to leave the cloister 
walls and assist the poor and needy, but in being kind and 
gentle and cheerful with his brothers, the element which after 
all is essential to real charity,—the element which makes re¬ 
ligious life a haven of rest and peace, which made the psalmist 
rapturously exclaim: “Oh, how good and happy a thing for 
brothers to dwell together in peace! ’ ’ 

There are some religious who are uncharitable not so 
much by an overt act or by a series of acts, as by a consistent, 
supercilious contemptuousness of attitude. They have the 
wrong estimate of others. They hold themselves in another 
plane above their brethren. And the pity of this is its abso¬ 
lute unnecessariness. Just a little human kindliness now and 
then, just a cup of cold water, just a gentle look, and the love 
and sympathy of others is yours. Even those who hide the 
affections of the heart, even those who keep them hidden be¬ 
hind an impenetrable mask and boast that they are impervious 
to gentleness and kindness,—even they can be won by a sym¬ 
pathetic word. The mask is not so impenetrable but an honest 
friendly smile will pierce it. 

Adrian McCormick never saved any of his fellow novices 
from drowning. He never spectacularly rescued them from 

[66] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


death. No, he was only a kindly likeable person who did not 
think it necessary to make himself detestable to others. He 
quietly and decently thought of the feelings and wishes of his 
companions, in the little daily ways. Ah, those little things! 

Generally, they are too small to chronicle: and sometimes 
too small even to sense, but in the sight of God they are great 
and glorious because of the motive behind them. Adrian’s 
motive, Adrian’s viewpoint—and, by the way, there is vastly 
more in viewpoint than we generally think—was founded on 
the conviction that his brothers represented Christ. With this 
thought ever before him it was not hard to be kind and gentle 
to them, and consistently kind, whether they appreciated his 
little efforts or not. The supernatural motive gave a stability 
and permanence to his actions they otherwise would have 
lacked. That terrible motto of Protestant individualism, 
“Nothing shall come between my God and my soul,” found 
no sympathy in Adrian’s heart. Everything must come be¬ 
tween a man’s God and his soul: the tears of a child in the 
crowded thoroughfare, the plea of a beggar for a crust of 
bread, the sneer or blow of an enemy, the love of a friend—all 
these come between God and the soul. And a saint is one 
who is able to turn these seeming obstacles into aids, who 
realizes that what comes between things joins them, and that 
God is found not in loneliness or in self-dependence, but in 
the least of these His little ones, in the burnt offering, in the 
Broken Bread and the Poured-out Wine. 

Nowadays, the word charity is often misapplied. The 
old Romans rightly characterized it as something scarce, some¬ 
thing precious, for, of a certainty, it is not as easily met with 
as we generally fancy. Many an act hides under the cloak of 
charity whereas it is nothing else than self-seeking. Many a 
one cultivates a sunny disposition and is courteous and affable 

[67] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and this simply and solely to advance his own interests. Ask 
such a person to reduce courteous ways and pleasant smiles 
to acts—to real charitable acts that require forgetfulness of 
self, and, generally speaking, the said acts will remain un¬ 
accomplished, which is another way of saying that there is 
a counterfeit brand, a wishy-washy sort, a make-believe char¬ 
ity wholly unworthy of the name. 

Young McCormick’s charity did not stop with those old 
courtly ways of his. Every opportunity of helping his breth¬ 
ren was readily taken advantage of. The novices were ac¬ 
customed to say that he stayed awake at night plotting just 
how he could assist a brother in distress. And really the re¬ 
mark appeared to have some foundation of truth in it, when 
one took note of the ingenuous devices and subterfuges Adrian 
made use of to exercise, and, at the same time, hide his charit¬ 
able schemes. I vividly recall an old shoe stand in the novices’ 
wash room. It was a rickety, disreputable affair, which had 
miraculously withstood for years the onsets of hob nailed and 
muddy shoes. The shoe brushes were no better. In my time, 
if memory does not deceive me, the place boasted of but one 
decent brush, the hair in the others was worn down to the very 
wood, and it was next to impossible to extract a shine from 
manipulating them. This was the scene of some of Adrian’s 
triumphs. He was always one of the first to return from after¬ 
noon walk, and would stop for a few moments to take the 
dust or mud from his shoes. About the time that he had 
blackened them and was prepared to make use of the sound 
brush to polish them, two or three other novices were sure 
to come along. Then it was that our young friend’s strategy 
asserted itself. Napoleon or Foch never hid his maneuvers 
as carefully as Adrian covered up his tactics. He would very 
carelessly throw down the brush he had been using as if it, 

[68] 



Young McCormick just previous to his entrance into the 
Society of Jesus 









ONCE UPON A TIME 


too, were utterly useless, and begin a search among the worn- 
out ones to see if there was a possibility of finding a brush 
that would answer his purpose. When the last arrivals had 
left, he would resume operations with the new brush, but, 
just as soon as another band of novices hove in sight, it was 
again carelessly dropped, and his search for a fit instrument 
was begun afresh, though he knew full well that the quest was 
a vain one, that it was as fruitless to endeavor to discover a 
serviceable brush in the pile before him as to stumble upon 
El Dorado. Then, too, the quest was rather painful at times. 
This attitude of alertness, of forestalling to his utmost the 
many little wants of his brothers was quite exacting, a daily 
martyrdom in fact, but .... Well, charity was worth it all. 
What was it David had said? “Neither will I offer burnt 
offerings unto the Lord my God of that which costs me 
nothing.” 

Another place where Adrian won fresh laurels was the 
refectory. I cannot recall that he ever had a preference for 
one dish above another, yet he did have an uncanny way of 
knowing the favorite dish of those about him. He would call 
the waiter and request him to bring more and then pass it 
on to his companions. On such occasions, too, he partook 
sparingly of the food in question realizing that his fellow 
novices liked it and that perhaps the supply would run short. 

At this time also Adrian developed a strong inclination 
for washing dishes. He seemed to think that he was just 
fitted for this work and that the lighter and the cleaner tasks 
of spreading the table cloths and arranging the plates would 
be better done by his fellows. Many a cynic will smile at 
these manifestations of Adrian McCormick’s charity, but let 
the cynic remember that the greater part of the work of the 
world is never given to the public without being previously 

[69] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


subjected to more or less frequent rehearsals. Not alone in 
music and the drama must the performers, over and over 
again, repeat their parts both alone and together until they 
are so perfect in them and have acquired so much ease in their 
performance that the danger of mistake is reduced to a mini¬ 
mum ; but also in other less intellectual endeavors there must 
be a complete test before a finished object is given to the 
world at large. One of the great firms of this country en¬ 
gaged in the manufacturing of locomotive engines never al¬ 
lows an engine to leave the yard until it has travelled a 
thousand miles inside the yard. This same effort to reach 
perfection by means of silent steady repetition is shown in 
the training of a soldier. He is drilled for weeks in the awk¬ 
ward squad before being allowed to join his more experienced 
fellows. Why, then, should we object to the Almighty follow¬ 
ing the same plan in the formation of a soldier of the Cross ? 
Why smile at the first efforts of one of His recruits who, when 
the days of probation are over, will be allowed like David 
of old to walk forth and defend His name against the 
Philistine ? 


f 


[70] 


CHAPTER II 


“And if any man think himself to be religious, not bridling 
his tongue, but deceiving his own heart, this man’s religion 


St. James i. 26. 


is vain. 



HOEVER would use words with discrimination must 


\\ recognize their inevitable limits. The word innocence, 
for example, creates within us pleasant feelings. We easily 
associate it with purity of heart and life. We mourn its 
departure from ourselves or from others, and long in vain to 
return to the state which it signifies. Yet in so doing it is 
easy for us to exalt it in our own minds to a higher position 
than it really deserves. For innocence, no matter how at¬ 
tractive it may appear, is nevertheless a negative quality. It 
is the absence of something wrong, but not necessarily the 
presence of something right. In its most common use, in 
respect to some special vice or crime, it simply means that 
that particular deed has not been committed. We say that 
such a one is innocent of the theft or falsehood or evil inten¬ 
tion with which he may have been charged, but, while we 
may be glad that such is the case, that fact does not endow 
him with any positive good quality. The jury who pronounce 
the prisoner at the bar innocent of the crime for which he 
has been tried, do not thereby attribute to him any special 
virtue. We may rejoice at his acquittal, and sympathize with 
him in having been unjustly accused, but the mere avowal of 
his innocence, while it clears, cannot exalt his character. 

In former chapters we have mentioned that Adrian was 
shielded in his childhood and early youth from everything 


[71] 


ONCE UPON A TIMF 


that could contaminate him, and separated from all evil 
influences. He was an innocent lad, and, in the estimation of 
holy men who were for years his confessors, he kept that 
innocence undefiled and unstained to the judgment seat of 
God. Yet what delighted us, who were privileged to be 
associated with him in his early religious days, was to see 
that, while keeping his purity of heart, he daily gave greater 
proof of growth in solid virtues and positive perfections. 
The fair white paper, without stain or mark, has its own 
beauty; soiled and torn, it is but a wreck of what it once 
was; but, written over with words of wisdom, or inscribed 
with messages of love, its worth is enhanced a thousand fold. 

Novitiate daj^s are quiet, peaceful, restful, and yet 
withal dynamic days and filled with silent persistent labor. 
The babbling brook chattering along its way has little 
power or force; but the silent swiftly-flowing river carries 
all before it. I think it is Robert Hugh Benson who aptly 
illustrates the difference between a religious house where 
prayer and silence reign, and a home filled with vanity and 
distractions by comparing the latter to a huckster, who 
makes a great deal of noise crying his wares up and down 
the street, and yet receives very little money in return for 
all his efforts; while the former he likens to a silent, thought¬ 
ful financier in Wall Street, whose every move is felt 
throughout the land. 

It is not hard to imagine the impetus a generous soul 
like young McCormick would receive in such surroundings. 
In this spiritual hot house the many virtues implanted in 
early life grew and flourished in an extraordinary manner. 
One, in particular, claimed his particular attention,—charity. 
Not alone that positive element that consists in assisting, 
providing for, and expending one’s strength in the service 

[ 72 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of the neighbor (which we have seen he possessed in a re¬ 
markable degree); but also that equally positive element in 
the concept of charity which demands that we think well 
and speak well of others. The writings of the chosen three 
— Peter, James and John — were especially dear to him, for 
he knew that they above others had assimilated and trans¬ 
mitted to posterity the true spirit of the Master. 

“For we have not by following artificial fables made 
known to you the power and presence of our Lord Jesus 
Christ: but we were eye witnesses of his greatness. . . . And 
we have the more firm prophetical word whereunto you do 
well to attend, as to a light that shineth in a dark place, 
until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your 
hearts. . . .” 

And the lesson or word they heard from the Master was 
ever the same: 

“Honour all men. Love the brotherhood .... But be¬ 
fore all things have a constant mutual charity among your¬ 
selves, for charity covereth a multitude of sins” .... 

“And if any man think himself to be religious not 
bridling his tongue, but deceiving his own heart, this man’s 
religion is vain .... Even so the tongue is indeed a little 
member, and boasteth great things. Behold how small a fire 
kindleth a great wood .... If any man offend not in word, 
the same is a perfect man. He is able also with a bridle to 
lead about the whole body” .... 

^That which we have seen and have heard, we declare 
unto you, that you also may have fellowship with us, and 
our fellowship may be with the Father, and with His Son, 
Jesus Christ. And these things we write to you that you may 
rejoice, and your joy may be full .... For this is the dec¬ 
laration which you have heard from the beginning that you 


[ 73 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


love one another .... We know that we have passed from 
death to life because we love the brethren. He that loveth 
not, abideth in death. Whosoever hateth his brother is a mur¬ 
derer .... And this is His (God’s) commandment that we 
should believe in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, and love 
one another as He has given commandment unto us ... . 
Dearly beloved, let us love one another for charity is of God. 
And everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God 
.... If we love one another God abideth in us and His 
charity is perfected in us.” 

In the world today, men appear to have grown blunted 
as to the moral vileness of certain things the tongue may utter. 
They consider as a human birthright the unstinted freedom 
to blame and to censure, so long as they tell no lie. As a 
reward for shunning calumny they allow themselves to roam 
at large over a field of detraction. Scandals are served as a 
morning repast. Harsh comment on men’s doings, quick 
sounding of hidden motive, unseemly readiness to pass on 
the evil word—these are common sins in this age of ours. 
Men and women now ply the trade of moral assassins not so 
much from malice but simply because they have been touched 
by the baneful pest of talking too much. No wonder the 
Wise Man said: “In the abundance of speech there shall not 
want sin.” 

Though in a far lesser degree, carelessness and thought¬ 
lessness in talking are at the root of our faults and sins against 
charity in the cloister, too. Masters of Novices have readily 
recognized this source, and repeatedly warn their charges to 
avoid it. In our day—after listening to a conference on the 
evils of the tongue—not a few of us would earnestly long for 
a hermit’s life, far from the haunts of men; and not obtain¬ 
ing this, we would resolve on a life of very strict silence. For 

[ 74 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


two or three days we kept heroically to our purpose. Even 
in time of recreation our companions could scarcely pry a 
word from our lips. Quite naturally they were under the im¬ 
pression that we were either sick or laboring under a severe 
temptation,—the change in our manner of acting was too 
radical not to be noticed and commented upon. Superiors 
interrogated us and advised moderation with the result that, 
generally speaking, we more than made up for the self-imposed 
silence by our increased loquacity. 

With Adrian, though, there were no spasmodic efforts; 
quietly and steadily he traveled along the road of silence and 
interior recollection. And still with all his peaceful ways and 
unobtrusive manners we never thought him sullen or morose. 
Ilis gentle, kindly smile prevented us from forming such a 
judgment about him. He was cheerfully silent and con¬ 
sistently so. 

Many a young religious will pass the years of first proba¬ 
tion in an exemplary, edifying manner. He will spend his 
time striving after the virtue of silence and the interior spirit, 
but the years blunt his enthusiasm, studies sap his vitality, 
and worldly distractions dampen the ardor of his soul. He 
seeks occasions for diversions,—litttle infringements, little ex¬ 
emptions from the common routine. He visits, by way of re¬ 
laxation, a fellow student’s room; he chats with him an hour 
or two; he expresses his views on individuals both civil and 
ecclesiastical; he denounces their personal conduct and their 
method of procedure. He has misused time himself: he 
has squandered the moments of another: he has, worst of all, 
broken the “bond of perfection’’—broken that spiritual elec¬ 
trical current that exists among men: he is not alone a non¬ 
conductor himself, he is preventing that current from reach¬ 
ing others. 


[ 75 ] 




ONCE UPON A TIME 

Among what we call the petty worries of life that of in¬ 
trusiveness occupies no mean place. Could we correctly esti¬ 
mate, not only the innumerable annoyances to which it sub¬ 
jects men and women, but the w r aste of precious time, the dis¬ 
traction of power, and the consequent loss of value to society, 
we should hardly esteem it a petty evil but one involving more 
serious injury. Men who are eminent in any department of 
life suffer especially from this cause. They are often per¬ 
secuted by letters and visits from multitudes of people who 
desire only to feed their vanity or indulge their curiosity. 
They are beset with all manner of criticisms, favorable and 
unfavorable, absurd proposals, frivolous questions, requests 
for favors and influence, congratulations, condolences, peti¬ 
tions without end. Each one of these intruders thinks him¬ 
self or herself ill-used if no notice is taken or answer made. 
Whereas if they were all attended to, the time of the man 
thus importuned would be entirely consumed, and his own 
proper business by which he so greatly benefits the world 
would remain undone. 

Doubtless, many persons commit this injustice thought¬ 
lessly, and without any intention of victimizing the one they 
thus beset, or of injurying his usefulness. But thoughtless¬ 
ness is itself a species of selfishness, and cannot excuse such 
practices. It is a matter of thankfulness to have in our coun¬ 
try men and women eminent in their various walks of life. 
There are, of course, proper ways and suitable seasons of 
openly honoring their merit, but one great means of showing 
our appreciation and gratitude is to leave them unobstructed 
and unhindered in their labors. 

It is not alone great men who suffer from intrusiveness. 
Every one is liable to it. In religious life it is not such an un¬ 
common thing as one would think. Unfortunately the kinder 

[ 76 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and more sympathetic natures are the most exposed to its 
influence. The cross-grained and selfish man is generally left 
alone—few care to run the risk of interfering with his 
privacy; few venture to ask a favor of him. He is left in un¬ 
enviable solitude. But, while his warm-hearted and benev¬ 
olent neighbor certainly does not covet such isolation, he is 
often seriously hampered by the opposite extreme. His good 
nature is imposed upon by those who have no claim on him; 
he is called upon to make sacrifices of time and strength which 
he cannot rightly afford, and he is often forced into the un¬ 
pleasant dilemma of choosing either to appear ungracious and 
unkind or to neglect his plain duties and positive obligations. 

Upon this rock not a few persons of amiable disposition, 
hut of weak will, have floundered and been wrecked. It is 
cruel and ungenerous to present such alternatives, and those 
who do so deserve the mortification of being summarily re¬ 
fused. One of the plainest of human rights is the right to 
he let alone, and to be allowed the privilege of exercising our 
benevolent facilities and extending our sympathies in what¬ 
ever direction we prefer, a right which cannot be invaded 
without tyranny. 

Adrian McCormick succeeded in preserving inviolable 
the virtue of charity because he avoided the remote occasions 
of offending against this virtue,—he kept silence strictly and 
consistently. Unless necessity called for it, he never visited 
the rooms of others, and then it was to stand by the door and 
transact his business as quickly and expeditiously as the case 
demanded. 

However, he never permitted his love of silence to deter 
him from vindicating the reputation of an absent brother; 
nor did human respect ever make him desist from raising his 
voice in vindication of one who was maligned. The Wise Man 


[ 77 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


tells us that there are times when speech is unseasonable, but 
he also says there are times when silence is wrong and even 
cruel. If there is much said that should never have been 
breathed, there is also much that ought to have free utterance 
which is never spoken. It is impossible to estimate the amount 
of happiness and benefit that is suppressed by this untimely 
silence. A group of persons are discussing the character of 
one, known, perhaps, only slightly to most of them. Some 
one speaks disparagingly of him, or relates some incident 
tending to lessen him in their esteem. Another who is present 
knows this to be incorrect, but, instead of vindicating him 
from the false charge, says nothing. He may be shy of ex¬ 
pressing himself; he may persuade himself that it is not his 
affair; he may dislike to appear antagonistic; whatever be his 
reason, he does the absent one an irretrievable injury by a 
silence that we must characterize as cowardly. The unfavor¬ 
able impression which he might have corrected sinks into the 
memories of those who have heard it, and is probably never 
entirely effaced. Had he simply uttered what he knew to be 
true at the moment of need all this would have been prevented. 

Adrian always felt that, when the character or conduct 
of any absent one was assailed, it was the path of kindness 
to refute it, if possible, or, if this could not be, to present 
some point in which he excelled and which would turn the 
scale of esteem in his favor. For, when all is said and done, 
it still remains true that there is in each one of us a mixture 
of good and evil, admirable and blamable, and the way we are 
judged depends largely on where the emphasis is laid. Life 
is a ledger and a good bookkeeper pays attention not only to 
the debits but to the credits as well. Therefore, all good-will 
and charity demand that, while we bury our neighbor’s faults 
in oblivion, we speak freely and fully of his excellencies. 

[ 78 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Many of us thought that Adrian was somewhat scrupu¬ 
lous on this point of charity, so sacred did he consider the 
character of an absent one. We often on purpose, and just 
for the sake of amusement, would begin to discuss the traits 
of one not present in the hearing of young McCormick just 
to watch his method of action. It was a very straight-forward 
action; with him there was only one rule of the road—“turn 
to the right”—and he did this—quickly. We never got very 
far with our nonsense; Adrian’s seriousness and aversion to 
anything bordering on offences to charity compelled us to 
desist. 

I recollect quite vividly a heated discussion we had one 
day during tertianship. It occurred in recreation time while 
we were all gathered one early spring day under the “tertian’s 
tree”—a majestic live oak that grew on the hillside and com¬ 
manded an excellent view not only of the valley in front of 
us but also of the Santa Cruz canyon on our left. The con¬ 
versation turned on the life of an old Jesuit who had been 
quite prominent in Alaskan affairs and who had died some 
years previous. The attitude the majority of us took was 
that he was personally a very holy enthusiastic religious, but 
on some occasions he had not shown very good judgment. This 
really upset Adrian’s placid disposition to quite a degree, and 
he became very indignant at the point we had taken. Again 
and again he rallied to the defence of the memory of Ips 
friend, and I think it was the nearest approach to anger I 
ever witnessed during my years of close association with him. 
Many of us on the other side became quite indignant too, for, 
as far as I remember, we were—speaking from the standpoint 
of moral theology—within the law. Tertians are apt:—at least 
during the beginning of their last year of probation—to put 
just a little too much stress on the value of moral theology, 

[ 79 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and forget that the saints had another standard to guide them, 
that their norm was generally the more perfect thing, the more 
pleasing action in the sight of God. 

Anyway, for some days after the above-mentioned inci¬ 
dent, we commented on Adrian’s conduct when he was absent; 
and, I fear, ignored him when present. Without a doubt he 
knew what it was to be a pariah, like a leper, as it were. For 
it must be borne in mind that you will find, even in religion, 
at times, some stray members of the Griddle School of thought. 
Members of this school place everyone on a griddle and roast 
them to a cinder. The Griddle School affects tremendous 
cynicism, and has the deepest and most supercilious contempt 
for everyone, from the highest superior to the lowest; and 
has the heartiest hatred for everything—except their own 
opinion. They are omniscient, and they are all wise; they 
can fathom the deepest and most hidden motive, and you can¬ 
not discourage them. If one of them had seen Peter curing 
the man at the door of the temple, he would have ascribed 
Peter’s action to the desire for preeminence and authority. 

However, these criticisms never appeared to affect Adrian. 
When human events went against him, when fellow associates 
reproached or snubbed him, it did not disturb his peace of 
soul, at least not externally. Doubtlessly, deep down in his 
heart the wound hurt, but he was too brave a little soldier to 
ever let it appear. We at times fancy—and erroneously so— 
that the only wrecks are those we see along the sea-swept 
strand; the greatest disasters are beyond the naked ken, they 
lie hidden beneath the waves of the mighty ocean. 

And I think it was thus with Adrian. He was quite sen¬ 
sitive and deeply felt rebuffs, yet he controlled himself as¬ 
tonishingly well. Never a whimper; but at the first oppor¬ 
tunity, he stole to the chapel, and there spoke out his heart 

[ 80 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and his sorrows to the King. Who shall tell of those cherished 
moments? Who shall describe the solace they brought! They 
renewed him spiritually, and, to a certain extent, physically. 
His face became less drawn, less haggard: it was more restful, 
more hallowed. Just as the sunsets have an added brilliancy 
after a rain-drenched day, just as the autumn sun with a bar 
of light can, in a few seconds, change the gloomy woods into 
a thing of glory, transforming the fallen leaves into piles and 
piles of copper, so came the Prince from the presence of his 
King. 

Was life hard and burdensome? Not at all! Life’s little 
periods of adversity were nothing but a background, like the 
gray walls of a gallery against which splendid pictures stand 
out more splendid still. Opposition and criticism brought 
home to him more vividly than aught else that in the gallery 
of his life there hung but one picture. Jesus! Jesus, all de¬ 
sirable! Jesus, all satisfying! Jesus with the quiet pleading 
eyes and the irresistibly sweet haunting voice whispering into 
his ear in these moments of sadness words of hope and en¬ 
couragement: “Blessed—blessed are they who suffer perse¬ 
cution for justice’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” 


[81] 


CHAPTER III 


“Whosoever is a little one, let him come to me,” 

Prov. ix. 4. 

O UR physical light comes from above. We look to the 
sun to guide us by day: to the moon and stars to direct 
us by night. Our moral light, too, comes from above; and the 
world today walks in darkness and the shadow of the valley 
of death because it has turned away from the sources of light 
that were meant to illumine its path. This accounts not 
alone for the intellectual stumblings of the present but also 
for the vast amount of unhappiness among the men of today. 
Divorce, verbal sophistries, suicide are a few of the many 
avenues by which they hope to obtain surcease from this 
malady. But the evil grows apace, and cannot be cured by 
any of these substitutes. Disease is never wiped out by spread¬ 
ing it. The remedy is above; and man is doing violence to 
his nature by not looking there for aid. “Ad astra” is more 
than an empty slogan. It answers an inmost longing of the 
heart. Man endeavors almost unconsciously to bridge the 
void between himself and his Home. He is forever turning 
his gaze “beyond the star dust and the stars.’’ And that is 
why the building of the Tower of Babel is quite a pathetic in¬ 
cident. The deed itself was commendable: the motive was 
wrong and vitiated the whole action, and aroused the wrath 
of God. Because of their pride He confounded them in the 
conceit of their hearts. 

On entering the novitiate, young McCormick had resolved 
on reaching heaven by the dual way of charity and purity. 

[82] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


He would plant these two virtues in his heart and tend them 
and wrap them about each other so inextricably from trunk to 
tendril as to form a leafy cable upon which white flowers 
and red would grow one against the other. And at last his 
cable reached the skies, for the roots thereof were laid deep 
in the earth—in the earth of humility. It was that virtue 
which kept his charity aglow: it was that virtue which 
guarded and sheltered his innocence of heart. 

When any of his companions thought he had slighted 
them, or were laboring under the impression that he had done 
them a wrong, his manner and gentle ways, louder than any 
words, made answer: 

“If you are provoked at me, let me tell you that you are 
not half as provoked as I am at myself! I am capable of 
doing the vilest of things, and am only surprised that the 
offence is not greater.” Such an attitude and such a humble 
demeanor were unanswerable. The ones who imagined them¬ 
selves . wronged were quickly enlightened: they went away 
convinced that after all the fault was on their side and not 
on his. 

His disgust and hatred for new clothes continued from 
the novitiate till death, and manifested itself in many in¬ 
genious ways. Not that he was slovenly and untidy—never 
that; for everything he wore was neat and clean. But he 
abhorred in a religious any trend to ape modern styles in 
dress and apparel. As a consequence that scarecrow of pres¬ 
ent-day dress,—the patch, held no terrors for him. Some of 
those he had were quite prominent and by no means small; 
and he wore them much as a general would a medal, or an 
ex-service man an empty sleeve. I distinctly recollect that 
the sub-beadle was kept quite busy taking Adrian’s old clothes 
to the tailor shop. Like a second-hand automobile, they 

[83] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


needed continuous repairs. He was quite exacting, too, when¬ 
ever an undershirt or handkerchief was missing from his wash, 
and kept gently prodding the custodian until the missing ar¬ 
ticle was found. 

Adrian never completely recovered from the surprise 
he received when admitted into the Society. He always con¬ 
sidered that a special exception had been made in order that 
one so unworthy might remain in the order. The lowest offices 
and the poorest room he thought his due. During tertianship 
there was not sufficient accommodation in the novitiate itself 
for all the fathers of the third probation, and Adrian and 
another father took up their abode in a rather dilapidated 
old cottage a few yards from the main building. It was a 
damp, dark structure with a leaky roof, and had been used 
as a temporary dwelling place for our exiled fathers and 
brothers when they were driven from Mexico. Besides the 
many annoyances incidental upon living in a place of this 
kind (he was obliged to carry his own water, build his own 
fire, etc.,) there was the added inconvenience of having to 
make numerous trips daily to the main building—and this 
often in rainy, stormy weather—to be present with the com¬ 
munity at the various exercises the rule prescribed. Yet here 
he remained until his last sickness. 

His mother, on her last visit to Los Gatos, a couple of 
months before his death, mentioned to him that she thought 
the place rather unhealthful, and advised him to ask to be 
changed to the novitiate building proper. But Adrian would 
not hear of it. 

4 ‘Why, mother,” he replied, “I am going to the Missions 
where there are many more hardships and privations: I must 
become accustomed to the little ones here, if I hope to bear 

[84] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


up valiantly under the ones God has in store for me in the 
future. ’’ 

Another manifestation of his humility and the low opin¬ 
ion he had of himself was the manner in which he guarded 
his eyes. In his estimation human nature was a volcano which 
—if given favorable conditions—would belch forth death and 
destruction without a moment’s notice. Naturally, then, he 
was ever on the qui vive lest he supply these “favorable con¬ 
ditions.” Inordinate curiosity he considered one of them; 
and he so trained himself that even the more extraordinary 
occurrences of life failed to distract his mind from the unum 
necessarium. Flowers might bud and bloom and fade, rail¬ 
road trains might collide, accidents occur in the streets, king¬ 
doms rise and fall, but for him—for Adrian McCormick—one 
thing alone was important, and in comparison to this every¬ 
thing else was a side issue—an incident—an event not worthy 
for his eyes to dwell upon; or to ponder over in his heart. 

Thursday is our vacation day at Los Gatos; and it is gen¬ 
erally spent at Villa Joseph, a summer home among the red¬ 
woods, in the Santa Cruz Mountains, about five miles from the 
novitiate. We walk there in the early morning in bands of 
two or three, and return home in the late afternoon, in time 
for supper. On rare occasions it sometimes happens that the 
novices and juniors go to villa on the same day, though this 
does not mean that they intermingle since each are assigned 
their respective places for amusement and recreation. And 
then, should it chance that a novice and junior be on the sick 
list, they ride together in the provision wagon with any of the 
fathers who may be too old or too weak to walk. 

This day there were five of us; Adriau—who was still a 
novice and convalescing from a recent illness—made up the 
quintet. A week or two previous, the Rector had purchased 

[85] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


a pair of young mules for work in the vineyards; and a father, 
who was teaching the juniors at this period, drove the span. 
This man was thoroughly convinced of his knowledge of 
horses and of his dexterity in handling them, though in the 
interest of truth I must confess that I have met few Jesuits 
with this accomplishment. Our scholastic training and en¬ 
vironment unfit us for many of the practical pursuits of life, 
this among them. Nevertheless many of us lay claim to skill 
in horsemanship and our driver of that day was among them. 
His exhibition, though, was woefully deficient, and my only 
charitable alibi for him is that a man may, perhaps, be an 
expert horseman without having any experience with mules. 
For beyond the town, where the road through the canyon 
parallels the railroad tracks, the animals became frightened 
at an approaching train and began to back us over the em¬ 
bankment. An old Spanish father, seeing the turn events 
were taking and realizing the imminent danger we were all 
in, made hasty preparations to jump from the wagon, but was 
stopped by a scholastic—a teacher of the juniors, too—who 
quietly turned to him and questioned: “Father dear, have 
you an inordinate attachment to life?” 

At this juncture, I turned to see how the father took this 
sally, and my eyes rested upon Adrian. He was reading the 
little office of the Blessed Virgin, and not only then, but even 
afterwards, I fancy he never knew we were in any danger 
at all. His whole appearance and deportment plainly in¬ 
dicated this; and to me was one of the most remarkable ex¬ 
amples of interior concentration and recollection I had met 
with. 

Adrian humbled himself in many other ways, too. When¬ 
ever going on a journey, no matter how short it might be, he 
invariably went to the room of his superior and requested his 

[86] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


blessing. On these trips, besides a disreputable-looking suit¬ 
case that reminded one of the kind typical farmers are rep¬ 
resented as using, Adrian carried an old, green umbrella. On 
the morning he left for Fort Bragg—the last mission he gave 
on earth—I was in my room after breakfast talking to another 
tertian. We heard the front door close, and the father looked 
out, and then said to me: 

“There goes Adrian (like Xavier of old), with his green 
umbrella and his Uncle Joshua suitcase to conquer the world 
for Christ!” 

Sure enough it was he starting out with swift nervous 
strides along the hot dusty road. He might, by simply asking 
for it, have had an automobile to take him to the depot. He 
might have gone forth thoroughly equipped for his task—well 
apparelled and with every reasonable comfort. But no! His 
heart was not in these things,— in a well-groomed appearance, 
in personal magnetism, in external weapons; his heart and 
thoughts were back among the Judean hills, and in spirit he 
ever heard the words of the Master: “ Go: behold I send you 
as lambs among wolves. Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor 
shoes.” 

We watched him until a turn in the road hid him from 
view, and then went about our daily avocations: yet strangely 
enough his image remained in my mind during the day, and 
I noticed my companion of the morning was impressed by 
what he had witnessed: his demeanor was more composed— 
he was more recollected, more serious than usual. It could 
not be otherwise; for when we are intimately associated with 
a noble soul, of lofty intellect and strong spiritual ideals, he 
seems unconsciously to shape us to his own mental likeness 
much as a seal upon melted wax. 

[87] 


CHAPTER IV 


“If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and 
mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, 
yea and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.” 

Luke xiv. 26. 

T O MANY it may appear strange that, though desirous 
from his eighth year of being a Jesuit, Adrian did not 
actually enter the company until he was twenty-one years of 
age. But this was not the lad’s fault. He made two unsuc¬ 
cessful attempts previous to this: One when he was fourteen; 
another when he was eighteen. On both these occasions super¬ 
iors refused him. He was delicate, they said, and needed 
building up. Fresh air, freedom, sunshine, rest,—these were 
imperative necessities in his case. Besides, with the exemplary 
environment at home, there was no danger in his remaining 
out as long as possible. 

“The year Adrian entered Los Gatos,” writes his sister, 
Rose, * 1 we had taken a summer home across the bay from San 
Francisco. When he went over to the college to beg to be 
admitted, he asked me to pray much for him. He was so 
humble and had such a deep veneration for the Society of 
Jesus that he feared he was too unworthy. When he was 
accepted, he went to mother about a week before the feast of 
the Transfiguration and said he desired to go and receive the 
habit on the feast of the Assumption. His mother replied: 

“ 'Adrian, had you not better wait until we go back to 
the city? Your father took this residence in the country so 
that you would have the benefit of the rest and air to grow 
stronger.’ ” 


[88] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“Adrian said: ‘Well, mamma, I can be accepted now; 
later on I might lose my health and could not be received. 
To be a religious is the highest vocation. You have always 
taught me to strive for the highest, and that is what I am 
now doing.’ ” 

It was another way for him to say: “I must be about my 
Father’s business.” And so he obtained the desired consent, 
and on the eve of our Lady’s Assumption, in the year 1904, 
he was heartily welcomed at the novitiate by Father Dominic 
Giacobbi, the Master of Novices. 

Long before Adrian’s entrance, he had met this pious 
director, and had conversed with him of spiritual matters 
and the requirements of religious life. Fr. Giacobbi rec¬ 
ognized in him a young man much farther advanced in the 
ascetical life than the ordinary postulant; and from the very 
beginning of his career as a Jesuit treated him as such. 

Most of us, after breaking family ties and leaving friends 
and relatives behind, found the routine of novitiate life rather 
lonesome at times. We had our spells of nostalgia, and, on 
rare occasions (when nobody was looking), some few of us 
indulged in what is supposed to be the exclusive indoor sport 
of women—we enjoyed a good cry. The homesickness of one 
novice in particular took a peculiar and rather amusing form. 
He hailed from Chicago, and found Sunday the most dismal 
in all the week. It appears that it was his invariable custom, 
before his entrance, to spend a couple of hours every Sunday 
afternoon during the summer in attendance at the baseball 
games. Hence Sunday afternoon at Los Gatos was a period 
of dour memories and of sad regrets. He mentioned his de¬ 
pressed state of mind one afternoon to Adrian in the hope of 
receiving some word of consolation, and said: 


[89] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“Just think, Adrian, this is Sunday afternoon! The 
White Sox are just finishing their game in Chicago. ” 

Before young McCormick had a chance to wedge in a 
spiritual prop, a fellow novice demanded: “Say, what knot¬ 
hole had you?” Needless to say all spiritual advice was 
quickly drowned in peals of innocent laughter. 

With this novice, and with the rest of us, too, Father 
Giacobbi was quite indulgent in the beginning. He was aware 
that we still felt keenly our recent separations from parents 
and loved ones; and so he permitted us to write home at fre¬ 
quent intervals. But with Adrian it was different. It was 
not necessary to feed him on a bottle: he was ready for more 
solid food. He could even thrive on rebuffs, refusals, humilia¬ 
tions; and Father Giacobbi took good care to see that he re¬ 
ceived them. 

When Adrian had been three or four months at Los Gatos, 
his mother, in one of her visits to the novitiate, remarked to 
Father Giacobbi: 

“Adrian writes home but seldom: is it the rule?” 

He replied: “I refuse him because as yet the cords are 
too tender. Later on he will write oftener. But now his 
heart yearns for his sister: he is very lonely for her. ’ * 

She said: “- And not for his mother?” 

“Ah! yes, for his mother, too. But his sister was one 
with him. They played together; had all their childhood 
hopes and fears and joys together. And this yearning is not 
like anything else on earth—so strong, so intense. But he is 
brave and will overcome all that might menace his vocation 
for the love of God.” 

And the Master of Novices, whose only desire was to make 
of the lad a spiritual athlete, a soldier, a Napoleon of Rome 
impervious alike to banter, applause or criticism, a man fit 

[90] 



ONCE UPON A TIME 


to cope with and conquer all temptations,—the Master of 
Novices began to exercise him and fortify him against what, 
to generous high-minded souls is generally apt to prove a 
source of weakness—their intense and sometimes inordinate 
affection for relatives and acquaintances. 

A common method of testing and exercising the humility 
of novices in our day at Los Gatos was the custom of being 
obliged to ask permission of the Master whenever we desired 
a haircut. The operation itself was a primitive one, consist¬ 
ing solely in a generous use of the clippers. The hair was thus 
cut close to the skull, much after the manner in which sheep 
are sheared. When it grew out again, the hair was naturally 
as long at the back of the neck as on top of the head. We 
would then approach the Master, and ask his permission for 
a cut. This, on general principles, he frequently refused. 
Then our troubles began. The hair on the hack of the neck 
would begin to curl and rub against the collar of the habit. 
And thus at every move we were conscious of the awkward 
appearance we made, and the crying necessity of a haircut. 
To outsiders, this might appear as a small trial indeed: yet 
to novices who had not entirely thrown off vanity and self- 
complacency in respect to their personal appearance, it as¬ 
sumed gigantic proportions. I know of one Jesuit who con¬ 
fided to me that it was the hardest humiliation of his earlier 
days in the Society. And on one memorable occasion he 
imagined that he just could not persevere in the Company— 
that the life was too severe: this was when he had made the 
fifth unsuccessful attempt to obtain a hair cut! 

With Adrian this sort of humiliation held no terrors. 
For, to all outward signs, he had no human respect in his 
make-up; and little or no vanity in his outward mode of 
dress. The master at once realized this, and, generally 

[91] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


speaking, did not try his virtue along these lines; but readily 
assented whenever he asked to have his hair cut. But he did 
take every opportunity of driving home to him the necessity 
of ordering and spiritualizing the close bond of affection that 
bound him to his parents and sister. 

One afternoon McCormick and a novice of Irish extrac¬ 
tion who had the unusual distinction of being blessed with 
a large crop of red hair were having their heads sheared in 
true convict style in the recreation room. The tonsorial 
“artists” (ars est celare artem—be it remembered!) had 
nearly completed their tasks, when they glanced up to find 
the master standing in the doorway. He took in the scene 
before him for some moments in silence, an amused and 
kindly expression playing about his mouth; then he walked 
over and inspected the work of the “artists.” 

“My! My!” he exclaimed, “that is fine! Adrian’s 
mother has written to say that she wishes a lock of his hair. 
We have plenty of it here—plenty! And different color—too! 
We need not stint her at all, at all!” And he picked up 
some of Adrian’s auburn curls and some of the straight red 
patches from the head of the Irish novice that lay strewn 
about the floor; and took them away with him as a relic to 
Adrian’s mother. 

Now young McCormick knew well not alone how to ac¬ 
cept a humiliation or a reprimand, but—what is better still— 
he knew how to profit by it. Though as novices we never dis¬ 
covered in him any special attachment to parents or rela¬ 
tives, we noticed nevertheless that he took the above-men¬ 
tioned incident deeply to heart. He reflected on the motive 
the Master had in view in administering the rebuff; and that 
his reflections ended in an iron-clad resolution that colored 
his after life in the Society may be gathered from his words 

[92] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to his sister, Rose, when he met her in Portland on his way to 
the tertianship. 

“Adrian,” said she, “will you ever come back from 
China ? ’’ 

“Well, sister, what do you think I will do?” 

“After a few years,” she returned,—“after a few years 
you may come back to see your relatives, for a rest, for a 
change of climate.” 

Adrian’s expression, usually so mild, changed to one of 
grave determination, and the glint of steel came into his eyes; 
and he said: 

“No, sister, never! Those who come back from the mis¬ 
sions, unless it be for grave reasons, are the greatest detri¬ 
ment to them. When we offer ourselves for the foreign field, 
it is to spend ourselves and to be spent, to give our strength, 
our health, our life for the salvation of souls.” 


[93] 








THE FOURTH PART 


Scholastic Days 

“Let no man deceive himself: if any man among you seem to be wise 
in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise. For the 
wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written: ‘I 
will catch the wise in their own craftiness/ ” 1 Cor. n. 18, 19. 




• * ; 



















































































































CHAPTER I 


“Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, and is easily 
seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek 
her.” Wisdom vi. 13. 

S PRING is here once more; and spring in the south is a 
glorious thing. The evenings especially rivet the atten¬ 
tion, and give one pause. A riot of color in the West when 
the sun sinks into the horizon,—blood-red, orange, vermilion; 
then more subdued, purple, lavender, holly; and finally, 
navy gray; then darkness. 

Across the campus come the voices of children, softly, 
ethereally. A lull of silence as a little bell tinkles out on the 
night summoning all students to come in-doors, and prepare 
to retire. Then “taps,” and peace and quiet. For Ignatia 
and her companions the day with its manifold worries is at 
an end. 

Gradually, the far-off, snow-crowned peaks of the San 
Bernardino mountains become more distinct, more ghost¬ 
like, for innumerable candles have been lit in the skies and 
the moon, like a big lantern, soars above them. It peeks 
through the pepper trees; it flits about the palm leaves, and 
on everything and on everybody it weaves its spell. The 
school buildings and the little Church are soon enveloped 
and bathed with an unearthly, frost-like grandeur. It turns 
the water spouts on the lawn into multitudinous bubbles, and 
one can almost see fabled little elfs, — creatures composed 
of moonlight, tinsel and thistledown playing about in the 
mist. 


[ 97 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


And the first thought that comes to an oldster is: Ut quid 
perditio haec—why this waste? But then he remembers that 
this grandeur, like the ointment Mary poured over His Sacred 
Body, is given as a memorial of Him Who once lived on this 
earth and sanctified it with His Presence; and just as that 
story of the spikenard will float down through the centuries 
as the symbol of love and self-sacrifice, so also, until the end 
of time, will the beauties of this old earth of ours speak to us 
of His beauty and His love and His self-sacrifice for us. And 
the oldster with tears of happiness in his eyes accepts these 
blessings, though it is always with bowed head and with a 
silent prayer of protest: “Domine non sum dignus!” 

These earthly splendors find a hearty welcome in the 
heart of my young friend, Ignatia. Just the other day I 
came upon her rather unexpectedly. She had a text book of 
American history in her lap but her soft, far-away look 
convinced me that she was not studying but dreaming. Her 
first words were conclusive proof that I had read her aright. 

“Padre,’’ she mused, “wasn’t that a glorious day we 
had last October at the beach? And really is it not too bad 
that one has to study and prepare for examinations? All of 
to-day’s sunshine is wasted on me—I cannot enjoy it because 
of that ’ ’—here she shook the book of history at me to claim my 
attention—“because of that fast-approaching examination.” 

“Well, Ignatia,” I replied, “that picnic was to you as 
‘roses in December’.” 

“Roses in December?” 

“Sure! Something pleasant to recall when times are 
hard and the outlook dreary.” 

“Oh ! O-o-oh !” she drawled; and then her eyes bright¬ 
ened and her solemn little face broke into a quaint smile as 
the meaning of my words dawned upon her. 

[ 98 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“And will there be a picnic after the examinations this 
year?” she inquired. 

“Yes, indeed, Ignatia. And that is just as it should be; 
for the heavenly Padre has prepared an everlasting picnic 
for those who come off successfully in the great final 
Examination. Just think of that! A glorious picnic not 
for a day only — forever and forever!” 

“But Padrecito,” she wisely insisted, “these examina¬ 
tions always come before the picnic. And they are dreadful 
— like being executed.” 

“Nonsense! Examinations are mere formalities; a mere 
bagatelle.” I like to confuse my little friend and prick her 
curiosity by using words she does not understand. It has a 
stimulating effect on our conversation and usually ends by 
her heaving a sigh of contented relief as she grasps the idea 
behind my words. 

“Yes,” I continued, “examinations are just like the 
ghost that has been appearing nightly over in Alessandro 
Hall—terrifying in outward form but in reality nothing to 
be afraid of.” 

“Ghosts?” she questioned with awe. 

“Certainly! Yesterday I asked Woody Joe if he had 
seen the apparition (Woody Joe, be it known, is a Paiute 
Indian of seven summers; quite a sedate and likeable little 
cove), and Woody very gravely replied: ‘Yes!’ ” 

“And what did Woody do?” interrupted Ignatia. 

“Woody told me that he was so frightened that he just 
hid his head under the pillow of his bed until he went to 
sleep.” 

“Did anybody else see it?” 

“Yes. Steve Swain saw it, and a number of others, too.” 


[ 99 ] 



ONCE UPON A TIME 


“And do you know, Ignatia,” I continued, — “do you 
know I finally asked William Red Cloud about the ghost 
(William is a young Sioux from Dakota), and William hung 
his head and with an embarrassed smile told me that he was 
the ghost. After his companions had gone to bed, he had 
wrapped a sheet about him, and impersonated a spirit. 
That—” I concluded, — “that is what you are making of 
your examinations — a bugaboo!” 

And then we talked about the Prince. And I told her 
that tests never bothered him or disturbed the serenity of 
his life. When he took his first vows on the feast of Our 
Lady’s Assumption, on the 15th of August, 1906, study was 
the order of the day; yet weekly reviews, and monthly tests, 
and annual examinations held no terrors for him. He was 
the same at the beginning of the scholastic year as towards 
its end — always genial, always happy, always above our 
petty worries, like a gilded cloud on a sunset sky. 

I attribute his peace of soul during student days to a 
two-fold cause. The first was that he did not permit work 
to pile up on him. He conscientiously performed his tasks 
from day to day: he was not only physically present as the 
teacher explained the matter assigned for to-morrow’s class, 
but mentally alert as well. This, combined with his superior 
intellectual talents, rendered success in his studies a fore¬ 
gone conclusion. 

The second cause — and by far the more important — 
came from his unswerving determination to copy the Man- 
God as far as it was humanly possible. In “The Deserted Vil¬ 
lage,” Goldsmith’s picture of the old preacher in which he 
compares him to a tall cliff at whose base the storms strike 
and break, but whose pinnacle is always bathed in peace and 
sunshine, is a truthful portrait of every spiritual man. Be- 

[ 100 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


cause of their close union and love of God, the things of 
earth are looked upon from a philosophic standpoint and 
from a utilitarian standpoint. The saints, wherever it was a 
question of salvation, possessed one-track minds; and rightly 
so because that is the unum necessarium. Whatever they 
accomplished intellectually, socially and morally for the 
world — and no one has yet given them their due in this 
respect — has been done because of their Christian philoso¬ 
phy of life; and because of that, too (their philosophy of 
life) their works remain, — substantial, permanent contribu¬ 
tions to civilization in the highest sense of the word. And 
yet, their intellectual pursuits, their social undertakings, 
their moral reforms were to them, so to speak, as pastimes, 
diversions and not really important in the light of eternity. 
Gloriously they went through life and, like almoners—which 
they really were, bestowed quite indifferently huge sums of 
the King’s treasures on those they met by the way; yet never 
once cast envious looks behind to desire the transitory 
baubles of this world. To them nothing earthly was really 
worth while. They spent their days like blacksmiths welding 
their souls into the image of the Master, and paid no heed to 
the intellectual sparks cast off in the course of the main 
work. 

Somewhere in one of his epistles, Saint Paul speaks of 
using all his endeavors to “know the supereminent science 
of Jesus Christ,”—that was Adrian’s attitude. Examina¬ 
tions, vacations—nothing interfered with it: and therefore 
it is not strange to have him write in this strain to his be¬ 
loved sister shortly before she became a nun. 


[ 101 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Sacred Heart Novitiate, 
Los Gatos, California, 
February 2, 1908. 

Dear Sister: 

Your welcome letter arrived yesterday, but I was some¬ 
what disappointed with its contents. For you said nothing 
about that which I was so anxious to hear. Perhaps you 
only intended to postpone the narrative till you should have 
more time to go into details. I shall expect then to hear more 
about the result of your trip so far, and of its continuance, 
the time of setting out again, the spot to which you look most 
expectantly and hopefully. 

So you have meditated deeply and frequently upon the 
little motto that Father Rector sent you? It is by serious 
meditation that all-important truths sink deeper into our 
souls; we see them in a stronger, ever-increasing light and 
then by humble, unremitting prayer, — prayer full of child¬ 
like confidence we obtain the grace to put into practice the 
knowledge we received. How secure a refuge prayer is? 
Let us never cease to pray; for Our Lord has promised all 
things to prayers; our salvation and every grace conducive 
to it are dependent upon our fidelity to prayer. And let me 
add another brief thought about trust in Our Lord. I read 
lately in a precious little book of St. Alphonsus Ligouri “On 
Prayer,’’ that in time of trial and desolation we ought to 
force ourselves to pray, and that Our Lord is greatly pleased 
to view our efforts “hoping against hope,” struggling 
against any feeling of distrust or discouragement; He will 
remove all obstacles in His own good time. 

And now I will bring my letter, or perhaps you would 
call it a sermon, to a close. But do not forget that the 
preacher also needs prayers. 

Your affectionate brother in the Sacred Heart. 

Four months later we find him writing again, this time 
from the villa: 


[ 102 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


St. Joseph’s Villa, 

Santa Cruz Mts., Calif., 
June 30,1908. 

Dear Sister:— 

As you see by the heading of this letter, the vacations 
have already begun and there is a good opportunity to write 
to you. 

How glad I was to learn that you have at last begun to 
climb up the path to perfection, the way leading to Calvary, 
rendered so sweet and so easy of ascent by the example and 
company of Our Blessed Saviour! Courage, then; be very 
generous, remembering that He who has called you is ever 
at your side to assist you and to speak so persuasively by His 
inspirations, so eager, moreover, to hear and to grant. 
Turn then to Him continually and pour forth your whole 
soul with sweet confidence into His Sacred Heart! In return 
for this entire trust He will make you feel the power of his 
love by giving you an ardent desire for the highest perfec¬ 
tion, the closest imitation of the virtues of His Divine Heart. 
Then you will be eager to make sacrifices for Him, to receive 
humiliations, to deny your own will in the numerous occa¬ 
sions of the day, — occasions which may seem small but are 
in reality most precious in the sight of our Blessed Lord, 
Who sees our loving intention and all the desires and move¬ 
ments of our hearts. What a happiness to be, even in the 
slightest degree, consecrated to Him; to know by a lively 
faith that we are ever under His personal direction, that our 
whole day and every action is regulated by His voice speak¬ 
ing through our superiors and our rules. What an endless 
number of helps! People in the world must wait a long time 
before they can obtain a spiritual guide, but we as religious 
have those who represent Our Lord very close to us, our 
superior and our confessor. We have only to unfold before 
them our whole souls, all our faults, temptations, weaknesses, 
troubles, desires, heart-burnings, and then obey with the 
trust of a child. 

Well, here I have been all the time “bringing coal to 
Newcastle.” You must pray very much for me that I put in 

[103] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


practice all that I have written. Do you often read the fifty- 
fourth chapter of a Kempis? When you are reading it, look 
up at our Lady of Good Counsel, and beg for ever increasing 
light and strength. 

How happy I was to hear of the favor you received on 
her feast! You will he ever thanking so good a Mother for 
the grace of your vocation. When I received your letter, I 
took up a picture of Our Lady of Good Counsel, which was 
given me by Father Master during the novitiate, and thanked 
her over and over again. Then during the past month how 
often I recommended you to the Sacred Heart of our loving 
Saviour. I am sure that you do not forget to pray for me in 
return, especially when before Our Lord in the Blessed 
Sacrament and when He comes to you in Holy Communion. 
These are precious moments whose value we will never 
understand until we are forever united to our Beloved Mas¬ 
ter in heaven. What happiness will then be ours! Which 
of us will be the first to reach the goal? We do not know, 
but let us strive with a holy emulation to reach that perfec¬ 
tion to which we are called, praying for one another, and for 
all who need our prayers; and we will be generous asking 
more for them than for ourselves. Then let us keep before 
our eyes the example of the saints, our true brothers and sis¬ 
ters, who as religious followed the same rules, fulfilling the 
slightest wishes, the good-pleasure of their loving Master. 
See St. Stanislaus, how swiftly he advanced in the course of 
perfection! Ten short months in the novitiate made him a 
saint, for he corresponded fully in every least task or cir¬ 
cumstance with God’s grace, never stopping to look back, 
but ever running onward with the speed of ardent love 
towards the shining goal. Let us often and fervently beg 
his assistance, confident that with God’s all powerful grace 
we shall reach that perfection which from all eternity has 
been Our Lord’s fond wish for us. 

Your affectionate brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[104] 


CHAPTER II 


“Place thy treasure in the commandments of the most High, 
and it shall bring thee more profit than gold.” 


Eccles. xxix. 14. 



HILDREN OF THE SUN” is the name we would give 


them, but they rendered this meaning in their own 


tongue by the word Spokane; and it is from this Indian tribe 
we have the city of the same name. These Indians, in early 
days, before the advent of the first Jesuits, considered them¬ 
selves as especially favored by the sun and placed themselves 
under its special protection. And indeed there is an objec¬ 
tive foundation for this belief. The Spokane valley is shel¬ 
tered by neighboring mountains from extreme cold and from 
the high winds that prevail at times in surrounding locali¬ 
ties. Here Old Sol loves to linger; and as for the sunsets, I 
have never seen, not even on the deserts of Arizona and New 
Mexico, such a profusion of coloring or such exquisite blend¬ 
ings of the same. 

How very befitting then that Adrian, the beloved child of 
the Divine Sun of Justice, should be sent to this spot to con¬ 
tinue his studies. Here, as in the novitiate, he is marked 
out from the others by his deep interior spirit and his exact 
observance of the rules. All light in the heavens at night 
is reflected light—reflected from the sun; and the planets 
must keep in their own orbit to fulfil their destiny. In the 
spiritual world the same truth holds good; we must ever stay 
in the path God has pointed out to us if we desire to be suc¬ 
cessful reflectors, if we expect to radiate happiness and 


[105] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


warmth and cheer the lives of those we come in contact with. 
Young McCormick was deeply imbued with this truth; and 
always kept his heart and affections turned towards God. 
Nor would he allow any worldly inclinations or distractions 
to take root in his soul. Quickly he plucked them out, even 
to the smallest. He never took any “chances” as we would 
put it; for he knew that taking chances breeds carelessness: 
and carelessness means ultimate ruin. Like the Rhenish 
sailors who kept away from the Lorelei and Ulysses who lashed 
himself to the mast while his boat passed the Sirens’ islands, 
Adrian McCormick bound himself so closely to God through 
his rules and through the wishes of his superiors that the call 
of the siren held no attractions for him. Unreservedly he 
gave himself to Christ; always and forever he desired to be 
His servant, His slave. And what a faithful little slave he 
was! “I have made a vow,” he told the Master of Tertians, 
“never to break any of our holy rules deliberately.” And 
we who had the privilege to know him and—what is more— 
to live with him can bear testimony to the heroic way he kept 
that vow. Many hagiographers have written from outside 
knowledge; they have perhaps never known the subject of 
the life they are writing, or, if this favor has been accorded 
them, their knowledge of him has been gleaned on rare occa¬ 
sions when they met him as an acquaintance, as a confessor, 
as a friend. Yet there never was a truer adage written than 
the one which says that we have to live daily with a person 
to find out his real worth and holiness. Adrian McCormick 
stood the test of living intimately with his companions,—many 
of whom were of a hypercritical turn of mind—and, though 
they witnessed his behavior in many unfavorable circum¬ 
stances and conditions, they nevertheless are unanimously 
agreed that he never lost his spiritual peace of soul or con- 

[106] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


ducted himself in any manner at variance with the highest 
standards of the ascetical life and the rules of the order he 
had obligated himself to observe. And this esteem of his vir¬ 
tues is all the more precious since it has come unsolicited, 
and as a spontaneous testimony of what they thought of their 
quondam friend and fellow religious. 

Nevertheless we have other means of obtaining an insight 
into his interior life than the written statements of his friends 
and companions. We have his letters; and these reveal a soul 
all on fire with love for God and the things of God. “Keep 
those letters you receive from Adrian,” counselled Rose’s 
superior when she entered religion,—“keep his letters, for 
though it is not customary to do so, I think we should make 
an exception in his case since they are the letters of a saint! ’ ’ 
Happy thought to preserve these models of what a religious 
epistle should be. We of today find it hard to speak of spir¬ 
itual things or to write on pious subjects; but not so Adrian; 
his treasure was in heaven and his thoughts, affections and 
all his aspirations were centered there, and from the abun¬ 
dance of his heart he wrote and spoke. Nor, with all his 
ambitions to be utterly consumed with love for God and to 
die a martyr in China, was he impractical in spiritual matters. 
“Whatever the future may bring,” he says, “the present is 
the only 'sure time we have to attain sanctity.” And, like 
a shrewd little merchant, he used this time to traffic until the 
Master came, to learn more about the King and to get closer 
to His Sacred Heart. Many of his letters ask for a life and 
death in union with the Sacred Heart; and in one place he 
says, “May we have just one moment to recollect ourselves 
and then breathe out our souls in contrite love of the Sacred 
Heart!” This fervent devotion of his to the Sacred Heart 
was a personal intense love for Someone Whom he seemed 

[107] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


even as a child to have known intimately. As a school hoy he 
would walk along in silence on Communion days, and make 
his sister, Rose, do likewise, though it was a forty minute walk 
from their home to the college chapel. But forty minutes 
was not too long a preparation for him to make for the 
Eucharistic meeting with his “Divine Friend.” For even at 
that age he had many many things to speak to Him about, 
and many many favors to ask of Him. 

On April 10th, 1910, he writes to his sister Rose from 
Gonzaga College: 

Dear Sister:— 

If my letter is late in bringing Easter greetings, I trust 
that I have, in some way at least, made up for my delay by 
praying for you and your intention, and begging Our Risen 
Lord to grant you His most precious favors, that rejoicing 
with Him in His glorious triumph, “your joy may be full.” 

I am sure you have done your part in praying, and offer¬ 
ing whatever sacrifices and sufferings Our Lord may have pre¬ 
sented to you, for all those w T ho have a special claim upon your 
help. For by prayer, by our toil and suffering united to the 
pleadings, labors and sufferings of the Sacred Heart, we can 
exercise a world-wide Apostleship. How many chosen souls, 
who had not the opportunity of laboring exteriorly for their 
neighbor, in teaching or preaching, for example, have in the 
hidden life of their cloister and the innermost cell of their 
hearts, by praying, suffering, offering themselves as perpet¬ 
ual victims, in union with the Sacred Heart, Who in the 
Tabernacle continually exercises and teaches this Apostleship; 
how many of these devoted souls have converted hundreds, 
yes thousands, and spread far and wide, even to the ends of 
the earth, the sacred fire of God’s love! 

But you know and practice this Apostleship already. I 
learned many new things about it in Father Ramiere’s book, 
“The Apostleship of Prayer,” and in that of Father Lyon- 
nard, ‘ ‘ The Apostleship of Suffering. ’ ’ The latter shows how 
suffering must ever be united with prayer, that the two ever 

[108] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


go hand in hand, the frankincense is ever blending with the 
myrrh, and both burning on the altar of a loving heart, send 
heavenward the “odor of sweetness,” the plea, which when 
united to that of our Mediator, will ever be heard. Father 
Lyonnard dwells a long time on the fact that the sufferings 
of the Christian are the sufferings of Christ, Who deigns to 
continue in him the work of Redemption; and all He seeks 
from His members is that they unite their sufferings to those 
of their Divine Head, that they may be rendered all power¬ 
ful in bringing souls back to Him. By this union with our 
Lord, our acts, and sufferings and all our works, become 
divine; and therefore we should have one aim, one constant 
exercise, of doing, suffering all in union with the bleeding 
Heart of Jesus, Our Saviour. “We are all members of 
Christ’s mystical Body.” These thoughts I gathered from 
Father Lyonnard, and I trust that they will help you. I 
pray that you will become one of those generous Apostles of 
prayer and sacrifice. You, on your part, beg Our Lord to 
grant me, to grant many many souls the grace to become 
loving, special victims with Him for the saving of souls. 

Now I must bring my letter to a close, again promising 
and begging prayers. I made that special intention for my 
first Holy Mass as you told me. Beg Our Lord to grant me 
the grace, the priceless grace of fulfilling it. Have great con¬ 
fidence in the intercession of Saint Ignatius, on whose Feast 
you received the white veil, and in Mary, our most loving 
Mother! 

Your affectionate brother in the 
Sacred Heart, 

Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Adrian from earliest boyhood had a deep and lasting 
devotion for the crucifix. When he was seven years old he 
met for the first time the Redemptorist Fathers who were 
giving a mission in his parish church; he saw too the people 
buying pious articles at the church door. He had plenty 
of these at his own home, and so he saved his pennies and each 
year bought a crucifix. He was passionately fond of these 

[109] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


crucifixes, and at last he was able to buy a large one such as 
the Fathers use while giving a mission. Then his joy knew 
no bounds. He kept it until he entered the novitiate. This 
love for Christ and Him crucified is well brought out in the 
following letters: 

Gonzaga College, 
Spokane, Washington, 
Aug. 5th, 1912. 

Dear Sister Mary:— 

It is now, very probably, that you are having a good op¬ 
portunity to exercise that spirit of detachment of which we 
spoke, and I am sure you will make good use of it for the 
love of the Infant Jesus and His Blessed Mother. 

A few minutes ago, I finished reading that beautiful let¬ 
ter of Reverend Mother Catherine Aurelie Du Precieux Sang, 
Foundress of your Institute. 

Any words of mine would be unable to express what my 
sentiments were when reading it. For me it shall always be 
a precious treasure, an inspiration to greater generosity in 
the service of Our Lord, and to apply, by every possible means, 
especially by the Holy Sacrifice and Holy Communion, the 
Most Precious Blood for the salvation of souls. 

The little book, ‘ ‘ Sitio, ’ ’ is another treasure. Every word 
in it is one of fire. After reading it, one feels the necessity 
of testifying our love for Our Crucified Saviour by an ardent 
desire and a ready acceptance of suffering and sacrifices. In 
the midst of these sufferings, the soul is truly happy, because 
she knows she is with Jesus, her Love Crucified. The more 
her love for Him increases, the more she will suffer, since 
suffering and sacrifices are the gauge of love, and does not 
Blessed Margaret Mary say: “Pure love is pure suffering!” 

The other book ‘ ‘ Flowers of the Cross, ’ ’ is very beautiful. 
That prayer “To Our Immaculate Mother” will be a favorite 
one for me, henceforth, and I will say it also for you. I am 
sure you will say it sometimes for me. What precious graces 
Our Immaculate Mother will obtain for us as She stands be¬ 
neath the Cross, offering the Divine Victim, “fortissima 

[110] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


omnium' ’; the most courageous, the most valiant of the fol¬ 
lowers of the King of Martyrs! 

The large Crucifix is now on my desk. It will remind me 
to pray very often for the generous giver, and for the whole 
community. 

Father Minister told me to inquire of you the price which 
the Sisters ask for crucifixes of the same size and kind, since 
he is anxious to obtain some for several of the rooms. 

Tomorrow, the Feast of the Transfiguration, will be the 
anniversary of my receiving the Cassock of the Society. Re¬ 
member me in your prayers during the Novena of the As¬ 
sumption ! 

Your affectionate brother in the 
Sacred Heart, 

Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Gonzaga University, 
Spokane, Washington, 
December 23rd, 1913. 

Dear Sister:— 

May the Divine Infant grant you the choicest blessings 
of His Sacred Heart and keep you ever close to His New Crib, 
the Altar, a victim of love and reparation with Him, in con¬ 
tinual sacrifice for the salvation of souls! May His Most 
Precious Blood fortify you, make you a martyr of love, and 
be for you a source of countless graces and true joy, especially 
during the coming year! True happiness is to be found in 
the Cross alone. “0 how happy are those,” exclaims Saint 
Francis Xavier, “whose only consolation is in the Cross of 
Christ! ” 

Beg the Divine Infant, through the Immaculate Heart 
of Mary, that we may ever be among those happy ones! He 
will readily grant all the petitions offered through the hands 
of His Blessed Mother. 

We will thus offer them especially during those precious 
moments when the Spouse of our soul is with us sacramentally, 
when the Divine Heart Itself pleads within us; and whilst He 
immolates Himself in the Holy Sacrifice, and whenever we 
visit Him in His Prison of Love. We will offer them not only 

[111] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


for ourselves, but for our superiors, our communities, our 
religious order, for all. And now let me thank you for the 
beautiful pictures you sent, for the Calendar, and be assured 
that I will daily pray for the donor, and also for your in¬ 
tentions. 

Remember that this is my last half-year in Philosophy, 
and by fervent prayer to the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary 
obtain for me and for our class that we may by constant 
diligence and fidelity cooperate with the guidance of the Holy 
Spirit, and reap the fruit in the end, which He desires for 
His greater glory! 

Your affectionate brother in the 
Corde Jesu, 

Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


Dear Sister:— 

Your welcome letter describing the beautiful celebration 
of those most solemn days of the whole year, the days of Holy 
Week, made me feel as though I were again kneeling in the 
sanctuary of that blessed Chapel of the Precious Blood. The 
adornment of the Repository on Holy Thursday must indeed 
have been beautiful! I will never forget how the little crim¬ 
son lamps, glowed and throbbed like so many fervent, yearn¬ 
ing hearts, in honor of the Heart Divine, on the day of your 
Reception, and I look forward with joyous anticipation to 
the coming of that thrice-happy day when you will be ‘ ‘ Sponsa 
Cordis Jesu in aeternum.” It will be a second baptism, and 
the laving stream will be the Most Precious Blood. 

Many thanks for the beautiful picture you sent. Of 
course I will keep the beautiful verses on the vows. How sub¬ 
lime those closing thoughts: “Mon unique amor est crucifie 
. . . . Et je suis volontairement crucifiee avec Lui . . . . Je 
suis unie a Lui pour jamais sur la Crois!” In them the whole 
perfection of the religious life is set forth in a few words. 
They remind me of an ejaculation which was often uttered by 
one of our Fathers, and which contained, he said, in one brief 
phrase all of perfection: “0 Sacratissimum Cor Jesu, pro 
me amore apertum, da mihi exire omnino a me in Te, ut Tecum 

[112] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


in Cruce vivens et moriens magis diligam Te et imiter!” One 
can offer this petition to the Sacred Heart very frequently, 
even without words, by a look^ a sigh, a yearning of the heart: 
“A me, in Te!” 

Many thanks for your prayers in my behalf, especially on 
Holy Thursday. The only way I can pay my debt of gratitude 
is by the same holy means of prayer, and I will do so with 
the help of Him, Who is daily made a Victim for us; and 
when that happiest day of my First Holy Mass comes, I will 
not forget those prayers, but will repay with interest and a 
hundred-fold through Him, Whose pleading is of infinite 
power, Whose oblation is of infinite value. 

The latest mail from “1524” brought with it a very 
edifying little booklet entitled, “The Shower of Roses,” or 
an account of some of the graces and cures obtained by the 
intercession of Sister Theresa of the Child Jesus. What 
marvels the pleadings of God’s intimate friends, of the 
Spouses of Christ Crucified, can work! Here is an humble 
religious, who in life and still more after death, exercises by 
prayer and sacrifice alone a world-wide apostolate. Let us 
then use these powerful means with ever increasing fervor 
and we will bring many souls captives of love to the feet of 
Jesus, Our King. 

Do not cease to ask of Our Lord for us, who are in our 
studies, the grace to make great strides in sanctity and knowl¬ 
edge, according to His best-pleasure, for His greater glory, 
and for the salvation of souls! Entreat these favors through 
the intercession of Her, Who is the “Seat of Wisdom” and 
the “Queen of Apostles!” 

What we ask through Mary, Jesus will readily grant. 
Let us ever go to Him, speak to Him, keep united to Him, 
through Mary, His Beloved Mother. Her Immaculate Heart 
is the link that unites our hearts to the Adorable Heart of 
Jesus. 

Remember especially * ‘ Coram Sanctissimo, ’ ’ two of our 
community who are sick; one of them, a scholastic, almost 
died a couple of weeks ago, but he is improving now. Our 
lives are in God’s hands, and the most perfect disposition 

[113] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


is to remain entirely abandoned to His best-pleasure, “in 
manibus Tuis”; He is our Father most loving and compas¬ 
sionate. May He bless you with His choicest graces in Christ, 
Our Risen King! 

Your affectionate brother in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


Dear Sister: 

Your welcome letter bringing the beautiful description 
of your vow day is before me as I write, and also the beautiful 
picture of the Sacred Heart, with the words “Effundetur in 
remissionem peccatorum. ” It will remind me that I must 
pray often for you, and the picture I sent you will remind 
you that you have a like duty to fulfil. The other picture with 
the words of loving invocation, “Cor Jesu, Fons vitae et 
sanctitatis! ” is very beautiful. The names of the two doves 
ought to be reversed however; and let it be our mutual prayer 
that both ever dwell within that Divine Ark of Refuge, 
that both-unceasingly draw from that unfailing Fountain the 
waters of life and holiness. Oh! when we deeply realize that 
all our happiness is to be found in this Refuge, all our strength 
and joy in this Fountain, how small and worthless do all 
things earthly become, and our hearts begin to yearn for the 
happy moment when our Beloved shall call us that we may 
behold Him face to face! 

It seems to be rather selfish for us, who have done and 
suffered so little in imitation, in union with our Blessed Lord, 
to be so eager to arrive “where suffering and mourning shall 
be no more ’ ’; but if the desire springs from love, if the Holy 
Ghost be its author, we know that it is pleasing to God, for 
it is always full of resignation. You must make up by your 
fervor for what is lacking in my thanksgiving to Our Lord 
for the great grace of your religious vows! And let us keep 
constantly the union of prayer in the Sacred Heart. There 
are so many intentions for which I might ask your prayers: 
but it will be simpler to ask you to include them in a general 
way in your own daily ones. However, one of the Fathers, 
who has but lately undergone a severe operation, and for 

[114] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


whom I had asked your prayers, told me that I should thank 
you, and that being still convalescent, he needs more prayers. 
While I was visiting the hospital, I saw a hoy who graduated 
from the College about a year ago, named Peter Gendreau. 
He has galloping consumption, so the doctors say. His sister 
is also a victim of consumption, so he told me. You knew 
her in the Novitiate. I am sure you will pray very earnestly 
for both of them that they may accept God’s Holy Will with 
resignation and joy; and that, if it please Him to cure them, 
they may consecrate their lives to Him in a very special way. 
Let us continually thank Our Blessed Lord that He has spared 
us to toil and suffer a little longer for His love, and especially 
in a state where we are so intimately united to Him, the one 
Beloved of our souls! 

Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[H5] 


CHAPTER III 


“How great is he that findeth wisdom and knowledge! but 
there is none above him that feareth the Lord. The fear of 
God hath set itself above all things. The fear of God is 
the beginning of his love.” Eccles. xxv. 13,14,16. 

T HE life of a student—and he be worthy of his calling— 
must of its very nature be one of isolation and retirement. 
Not without reason have poets and dramatists pictured him 
as inhabiting garret places, away from the turmoil and bustle 
of the world, and associating with others only when the neces¬ 
sities of nature and the requirements of student life demand 
it. For, though he may live in the heart of a city, he must 
sedulously keep its distractions and its allurements out of 
his soul; he must cultivate in his heart a little citadel whence 
he may retire betimes with his books, an upper chamber with 
only his dreams and ideals and ambitions for companions. 

And if this be true of secular students, much more so does 
the case hold in respect to those who are religious. The real 
scholastic is known by his spirit of retirement, by the hidden 
life he leads,—alone with God and his books. 

Adrian was dreadfully afraid lest the time and applica¬ 
tion he gave to his studies would sap his love for things spir¬ 
itual; and in point of fact he gave more and more time to 
prayer and meditation as the appointed period for his ex¬ 
aminations approached. Of this time of his life, one of his 
companions in philosophy, and a close associate of Adrian’s 
writes: 

“I always found Adrian a model of piety and conscien¬ 
tiously exact in the discharge of his duty. He had determined 

[116] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to become a saint, and worked to this end with his whole heart 
and strength. Human respect had absolutely no place in his 
heart and one could not help noticing his great fidelity to 
little things. He was sacristan of our house chapel, and how 
he rejoiced in the charge! Not unfrequently he was seen there, 
especially during the hard days which preceded the final ex¬ 
aminations, talking things over, as it were, with the All-Wise 
Friend he loved so well. 

“As his companion that year at the Italian Sunday 
School, which we had organized at North Division Street, I 
had many a chat with Adrian. On the way out, we generally 
talked of China; and his eyes would sparkle at the mere men¬ 
tion of that land of his dreams. We were accustomed to take 
turns in addressing the children before the end of the session; 
and I at once recognized the great power Adrian possessed as 
a speaker. With apparently little or no difficulty he held the 
complete attention of the children. On one occasion he had 
delivered a vivid sermon on the Saviour’s death and cruci¬ 
fixion; and two of the youngsters who were present were so 
impressed with his words that, after the sermon, one of them 
rushed at the other, and throwing him down, pretended to 
nail his hands, saying: ‘You are Jesus Christ! I nail you to 
the Cross! ’ Poor Adrian, thinking the boy was blaspheming, 
forcibly separated the lads and severely reproved the one 
who had spoken, telling him that it was a grave sin to 
blaspheme. For a while I thought the boy was going to kill 
Adrian. Temper in Italians of that class is terrible; and I 
had to endeavor to quiet the lad since he had lost his head 
completely. But it was of no avail,—he so threatened Adrian, 
and promised that his father would come along with a gun to 
avenge the supposed wrong inflicted upon him, that I ad¬ 
vised Adrian to stay away the next Sunday and allow the 
incident to blow over. But Adrian would not hear of such a 
course; he was perfectly fearless, until,—until I demonstrated 
to him that he might be the cause of'another committing a 
grievous sin, and then the case was won; my saintly com¬ 
panion was perfectly resigned, and content to follow the plan 
I had traced for him. 


[117] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“On other occasions we would go to the hospital to visit 
the Japanese and Italian patients; and it was astonishing to 
witness the zeal and fervor with which he spoke to them of 
God and the things of the soul. All these incidents, as also 
my close intercourse with Adrian, persuaded me that the 
young man was a saint, and I found it very difficult, when I 
heard of his death, to offer suffrages for a soul I was con¬ 
vinced had already received the reward of eternal glory/’ 

Adrian had other means, besides teaching catechism and 
visiting hospitals, of keeping aglow his fervor and zeal dur¬ 
ing the arduous years of study incumbent upon him as a 
scholastic. One of these was his habit of having frequent 
conferences with the spiritual father of the house wherein he 
dwelt. As soon as class was over, he would make a little visit 
to the chapel; and these visits, by the way, were in them¬ 
selves little sermons on the presence of God. His manner of 
genuflecting both on entering and upon leaving the courtroom 
of the King, would perceptibly increase one’s faith in the 
abiding residence of Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. His 
external deportment, his modest reverential behavior, his 
down-cast eyes,—these spoke louder than words of the glow¬ 
ing certainty that possessed him. After leaving the chapel, he 
generally walked over to the college building proper to con¬ 
sult with his spiritual director, or to ask advice of the Rector 
about any matter that might occupy his attention. On these 
occasions—and in fact, on most occasions—he carried a pious 
book under his arm, and if the spiritual father was occupied 
or the Rector engaged, he spent the time waiting for them 
in reading the book he carried. He was so gracious in allow¬ 
ing others to precede him, that often he consumed hours in 
this manner. Yet this rather trying turn of affairs never dis¬ 
turbed his patience. He did not begin to look around, as most 
of us did, and stand, first on one leg then on the other. No, 

[118] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


quietly and modestly he made his spiritual reading; and then 
took up another book on philosophy or chemistry. Nor did 
the fact that he had spent an hour or a half hour in pious 
reading during the day prevent him from giving the allotted 
time to this same subject in the evening. 

One day in early spring I passed through the corridor 
of old Gonzaga rather late in the afternoon; and Adrian was 
standing outside the Rector’s door. An hour later I passed 
again, and he was still there. Not an unusual scene, nothing 
out of the way except,—except that it was springtime, and 
the sun was setting in the West and throwing its last rays 
through the large window on the form of Adrian and the 
scent of lilacs came in from the garden below; and some¬ 
how he seemed a part of the picture,—the saints on the walls 
recognized him as a brother, the sun had placed an amber 
aureola on his brow, and he was as much at home in those 
monastic surroundings as,— as a ship is in the sea. Per¬ 
fectly happy in his one great ambition to love God and serve 
Him alone! Perfectly content in possessing Him, to lose all 
else ! ‘ ‘ The Lord is my Shepherd: I shall not want! ’ ’ 

Religious life was meant to be a heaven and a Gethsemane 
to those who embrace it. A heaven since it places before men 
the real solid joys of the soul; a Gethsemane since it purifies 
the soul by suffering so as to relish and appreciate these spir¬ 
itual delights. When we find that we experience neither of 
these states in religion, when we travel along in the ordinary 
routine way, tolerably happy and tolerably comfortable, it is 
high time to enter into ourselves, examine our conscience and 
see if we be not leading a tepid, worldly life. 

To Adrian religious life was a heaven. There were times 
when, after conquering self and refusing to kneel down and 
adore the world and the maxims of the world, angels—angels 

[119] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of consolation—came and ministered unto him; times when, 
with Mary of old, he just sat at the Master’s Feet and drank 
in with great humility the words that fell from His Sacred 
Lips,—“Yea, Lord, for the whelps also eat of the crumbs that 
fall from the table of their masters ’ ’; times when, in a spirit 
of exultation and holy joy, he asked with Peter to remain for¬ 
ever on the mountain with Him Whom he loved; times, when 
the King was his Guest in Holy Communion, and with 
Anthony he exclaimed: 

“Jesum brachiis tenere, 

Atque totum possidere, 

0 quantae divitiae! 

Cum Maria conversari, 

Ei Natum amplexari, 

0 quantae deliciae!” 

But, alas! there were other times too. We do not always 
see the sun: if it shone continually upon us the earth would 
soon become parched, dry and arid. And so we have gray 
days and dark days and rainy days. In the human heart too 
it is not all gladness and sunshine; there are dark, cold, wintry 
periods which chill the spirit, and even freeze it entirely un¬ 
less it be kept warm by the fire of Faith. And yet withal 
the trying times are fruitful too. The wintry winds that 
tear the leaves from the tree and render it to external eyes 
a dead and useless thing, have no power over the tree’s life 
below the earth’s surface. It sinks its roots deeper and 
deeper during this time of adversity; and emerges in the 
spring in all its glory—a stronger, healthier, more vigorous 
tree because of the storms it has withstood. 

Adrian’s periods of desolation and adversity came from 
a two-fold source. Firstly, he had his physical infirmities to 
contend with. Wonderfully astute he was in hiding these 

[120] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


from the gaze of others. We always knew he was delicate and 
frail, but not until his sickness during the influenza epidemic 
—a month or two before his death—did I discover that his 
body was practically a mass of sores and boils. It came about 
in this way: He walked one day into the infirmary and we 
found he had quite a high fever, and a congested condition 
in the lungs. After ordering him to bed and prescribing for 
him, I suggested to the brother to give him a good cam¬ 
phorated rub. The brother came back to tell me that Adrian 
did not wish this at all; and I, thinking this attitude of mind 
came from a delicate sense of modesty and from nothing else, 
insisted on the orders being carried out. He was quite docile 
when the brother came a second time to perform his task; and 
it was then we discovered the real reason for Adrian’s refusal, 
and the sorry plight his poor body was in. 

I never knew young McCormick to be troubled much with 
boils on his face or arms: the only reason I can assign for 
the presence of these sores is that our saintly little friend had 
scourged himself too violently years before and had never 
given these spots a chance to heal. Poor Toots in Dombey 
and Son used to say when anything untoward happened to 
mar the serenity of his existence, “Well, it’s of no conse¬ 
quence ! ’ ’ Adrian had this ordinary disregard for suffering 
supernaturalized to the nth power. On each of the sores 
he had placed a Sacred Heart badge as much as to say: ‘ ‘ God 
will take care of these now—it’s of no consequence! ’ ’ 

Another element that increased Adrian’s cross to a con¬ 
siderable extent was his indomitable determination to avoid 
even the slightest faults and imperfections. In his untiring 
efforts to observe to the utmost jot and tittle the many demands 
his rule made upon him, he naturally came into frequent con¬ 
flict with his companions who were not so exact or particular 

[121] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


about little things as he. “Adrian is scrupulous ,’’ some of 
them said, “and he shows poor judgment on occasions.” 
Whereas the fact of the matter was that Adrian was not 
scrupulous but gifted with a great delicacy of conscience that 
recoiled from the least shadow of sin. As for his judgment, 
in matters spiritual it was soundness personified; in matters 
temporal, the only fault that might be adduced—if fault it 
could be called—was that he viewed these transitory affairs 
from an altogether spiritual vantage ground. 

Yet be the alleged excuses what they may, Adrian‘as¬ 
suredly experienced at times the opposition of his brethren. 
Some of this came from a spirit of worldliness and selfishness 
because they knew that he was not only holy but, underneath 
that child-like simplicity humility and innocence, that he was 
learned and brilliant as well: some of it came too from the 
fact that his exemplary life was a reproach to their methods 
and their carelessness in small matters. St. Aloysius, St. John 
Berchmans, St. Stanislaus,—they all passed through the same 
ordeal. It’s the badge the saints all must wear,—the badge 
of the Master. 

These and similar opinions, never influenced Adrian. At 
this period especially we find him giving heroic examples of 
the highest sanctity, for he never wavered an inch nor com¬ 
promised in the least. A scholastic who was with Adrian and 
witnessed the ordeal he was passing through, said with deep 
regret: “ I wanted to be good and kind to Adrian and to show 
him that I appreciated his efforts in keeping the rules so per¬ 
fectly and leading a life of interior holiness but human respect 
often conquered me. I often left unsaid the word of encour¬ 
agement and of cheer that mean so much when one is fighting 
without support.” 


[ 122 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


This young man, and many others who knew Adrian at 
this time, are now quite enthusiastic about him. I might in¬ 
sert their testimony as to his heroic character and sanctity; 
but, alas! it looks too much like opening a coffin after a loved 
one has departed. Our gifts to the neighbor ought to be 
part of life, not of death. 

And so the Prince walked alone at this troublesome epoch. 
Yet not entirely alone since he had one confidant who never 
failed him—the Sacred Heart of his Saviour. To Him he 
poured out his sorrows; to Him he told of his great affection 
and love for his brethren, and how their carelessness wounded 
him to the quick. And the Master in return admonished him 
to ever bear in mind that the disciple was not above the 
teacher; that if they have called the good man of the house 
Beelzebub, how much more them of his household; that though 
he may not actually be placed on a gibbet and then laid in a 
sepulchre, he may experience nevertheless a daily crucifixion, 
and undergo nevertheless the desolation and abandonment 
akin to the isolation of the tomb. And the Prince took the 
words of the Master to heart; for we find him writing at this 
period, time over time: “Pure joy is pure suffering!” 

My dear Sister:— 

How glad I am that you are making earnest preparations 
to labor for our Blessed Lord, that you are striving to draw 
all your knowledge from the Sacred Heart “in Whom are 
contained all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. ’ ’ Have 
confidence then, humble and unbounded, that your efforts will 
be successful. In the devotion to the Sacred Heart we have 
the shortest way to all perfection. Let us continually beg the 
Immaculate Heart of Mary to obtain for us a most ardent love 
of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a love shown in deeds, by sac¬ 
rifices. by our joy in suffering and toiling in imitation of 
Him. For, if our love be sincere, strong and deep, we will 
yearn to suffer and to be despised that we may resemble more 

[ 123 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


closely our Divine Model. “Pure love is pure suffering,” 
are the words of Blessed Margaret Mary. Is not this our 
whole occupation in the religious life? To love, to suffer 
lovingly, that, with Jesus Christ, Our Beloved, we may be 
nailed to the cross? 

You spoke very truly of the dignity and merit of the 
priest in offering the Adorable Sacrifice. Continue to pray 
that, if it so please our Lord, I may one day be allowed to 
offer up the All-atoning, Immaculate Victim! Pray especially 
that I may live and die a true Jesuit; and attain that degree 
of perfection, which Our Lord from all eternity desired me 
to reach! 

Your affectionate brother, 
Adrian. 

I spoke awhile back of Adrian having but one confidant— 
our Blessed Lord; he had another in his spiritual father. 
Holy Scripture advises us to be at peace with many, but 
to let one in a thousand be our counsellor. Our little friend 
followed carefully this sage warning. He never spoke of his 
crosses, his disappointments, to us. We never knew much of 
the inner workings of his soul; that to him was something 
sacred—a land apart, and only the Master and the Master’s 
representative had the key to the gate thereof. Whenever he 
fancied he was becoming lax on any point of rule, whenever 
the opposition of companions became too great, whenever his 
burden felt too heavy, off he would go to the spiritual father; 
and there he would stay—at times for hours—speaking of his 
difficulties, explaining his weaknesses, asking for advice and 
aid. And the extraordinary thing was that his studies never 
suffered from the large portion of the day he gave to spiritual 
things. Father Giacobbi, who knew Adrian not alone in his 
last years, but was his Master of Novices in the beginning of 
his religious career as well, writes to his sister at the time 
of Adrian’s death: 


[ 124 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“He was a saint in tlie true sense of the word, and I 
more than anyone else could say so because I knew him so 
well. His innocence was angelic and his faith, strong and 
pure and ever active and vivid, made him walk unflinchingly 
the higher paths of perfection. Who can boast of ever having 
seen him transgress a rule or deviate ever so little from the 
lofty ideal of perfection as a companion of Jesus and a fol¬ 
lower of St. Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier, in whose foot¬ 
steps he had resolved to walk? He had excellent talents for 
philosophy and theolog}^, sciences which he preferred to all 
others because they brought him more immediately in contact 
with God and are more powerful instruments to do good to 
souls. He had great success in his studies in which he was 
helped not only by his assiduousness but also by his docility 
to all the directions of the Church. We thought he would 
hold the professorship of one of these sciences some day in our 
scholasticate. Even in far-off China his talents would have 
won recognition. But our good Lord, Whose designs are ever 
adorable, has willed to take him away from us, and to blast 
all our expectations. We adore His Holy Will and lovingly 
submit to it. 

“You, dear Sister, may congratulate yourself that you 
had a brother who was a saint, and feel bold to ask the Lord 
for any favor, since your holy brother is interceding for you. 
And what should be the joy of your good parents who gave 
him so generously to God in seeing that he succeeded so well 
in that which was their chief desire—his perfection. I know 
the faith of your dear mother, and while she grieves over her 
loss (how could it be otherwise since he was so dutiful and 
worthy a son?), she rejoices in spirit and sings spiritual can¬ 
ticles to God who has blessed her so wonderfully in dear 
Adrian. 

‘ ‘ Our young fathers who studied with Adrian in Montreal 
relate extraordinary things of him. I have no doubt whatever 

[ 125 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


that in praying to this brother of yours, who so loved you in 
life, you will obtain all sorts of favors from him. 

“Please comfort your dear mother for me. 

‘ ■ Sincerely, 

“Father D. Giacobbi, S. J.” 


[ 126 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


“If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have 
not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling 
cymbal.” 1 Cor. xm. 1. 

“Eheu, fugaces, Postume, Postume, 

Labuntur anni, nec pietas moram 
Rugis et instanti senectae 
Adferet indomitaeque morti.” 

Odes of Horace, Ode 14, Bk. 2. 

T HE SHORTNESS of life, the duration of eternity are 
seldom fully grasped by the worldly wise; the saints 
alone view these two states in their true perspective. Adrian 
was very much like a busy housekeeper preparing for a 
number of guests, — he made every moment count; and yet 
his multitudinous tasks were never performed feverishly or 
with undue haste. He held time in its right position. Not 
as something trivial did he consider it, like the old Spaniards, 
who thought that time was made only for slaves; nor, on the 
other side, did he allow it to inordinately interfere with the 
thorough performance of his many duties. Nothing was 
passed over in a slip-shod manner; but quietly and thor¬ 
oughly accomplished. He was time’s master, and right well 
did he employ the fugitive seconds. 

With most of us, our books and the period set apart for 
prayer and meditation kept us fully occupied during the day; 
with young McCormick it was different. His laborious hours 
of study, his close attention to every little obligation of rule, 
the opposition he met with at times from the brethren, his 

[ 127 ] 



ONCE UPON A TIME 


natural frailty of body, the protracted period he gave to 
prayer, — these demands were not sufficient to satisfy his 
heroic soul. He desired more suffering. “Many waters 
cannot quench charity, neither can the floods drown it: if a 
man should give all the substance for love, he shall despise 
it as nothing.” 

And so we find Adrian during philosophy taking a 
special interest in an old broken-down priest who was all but 
helpless. John Baptist Rene had deserved well of the Society 
of Jesus. In the full flush of manhood he had left his native 
land; and, like the early miners, he went West to meet priva¬ 
tions and hardships, and to prospect — to prospect for souls. 
He cast his lot with the valiant little band of Jesuits laboring 
in a far-flung field in what was then known as the Rocky 
Mountain Mission. He was a man of broad views, progres¬ 
sive ideas, solid learning and — best of all, laus Deo! — of a 
kindly heart. As rector of Gonzaga College he won a unique 
distinction, — he was loved and revered not only by the 
students but by the members of his community as well. And 
as Prefect Apostolic of Alaska he was indefatigable in pro¬ 
moting the spiritual growth of the vast territory under his 
charge. Toward the end of his career, broken in health, he 
came to Spokane as spiritual father of the community, and 
Professor of Hebrew to the philosophers. 

In the capacity of spiritual father, Adrian naturally saw 
a great deal of Father Rene, as the young man frequently 
consulted him on the affairs of his soul. Then, as the old 
priest became better acquainted with Adrian, he gradually 
began to depend more and more upon him for assistance and 
help. Adrian served his Mass (which he celebrated in his 
room), swept and dusted his chamber, made the bed, carried 
up his meals when sickness rendered it impossible for him 

[ 128 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to go to the refectory, visited him many times during the day 
to supply his little needs, — in a word, cared for him as a 
son would a father or as a nurse would a patient. 

It was quite pathetic to see such a slim fragile scholastic 
so occupied and so burdened. At times he seemed almost 
tiny yet fragility was far from being one of his defects. He 
was rich in courage with which history has endowed the 
saints, and that more than made up for the physical weak¬ 
ness that was his. If he was slender it was with the slender¬ 
ness of steel wire. Low in vitality, feeble of body, small of 
stature, nevertheless his indomitable will power bound these 
stray strands together into a braided cable, capable of al¬ 
most superhuman endurance. 

' Besides fortitude, Adrian had a peculiar talent in caring 
for others. He was kindpess itself; and yet this kindness 
never showed itself in a blustering, pompous way. No, he 
was gentle and unobtrusive, and invariably spoke in a tender 
crooning voice, his words being low and soft as the quiet 
pitter patter of rain at night, soothing to a tired heart. 

His devotion to Father Rene formed the nucleus for 
many a joke among the philosophers. There were one or 
two especially who considered themselves, like Petronius, 
to be arbiters not so much of fashions as of opinions. These 
condescended to patronize Adrian, and to inform him that 
it was a wise course to assist professors, — that it might 
come in handy around examination time; and they predicted 
that he would emerge from the examination in Hebrew 
“facile princeps.” 

Adrian took these remarks and jokes about himself and 
charge in a quiet humble manner. He never retaliated but 
appeared rather to enjoy being ridiculed and made the 
laughing stock of others. He would smile in his wistful 

[ 129 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


little way and turn the conversation at the first opportunity. 
Such little annoyances served only to increase rather than 
decrease his desire for self-sacrifice, and we find him at this 
time writing to his mother: 

Dear Mother:— 

I had forgotten about the promised letter, and now we 
are on the eve of Ash Wednesday. There is exposition of the 
Blessed Sacrament all through the day in reparation to the 
Sacred Heart of Jesus for all the outrages and excesses com¬ 
mitted during these days. The boys of the College have 
come, class by class, in full numbers to pay their manly 
tribute of adoration and love to our Eucharistic King. From 
faithful fervent hearts unnumbered throughout the Church 
to-day ascends that prayer of loving reparation, “Sanetifice- 
tur Nomen Tuum! Adveniat Regnum Tuum!” 

During the holy season of Lent, you will, no doubt, be 
very much occupied in helping the “Helpers” (the French 
religious who were establishing at that time a house of their 
order in San Francisco). It is certainly a great happiness to 
be able to lighten the sufferings of the poor and afflicted, and 
its source is in the words of Our Blessed Lord: “You do it 
unto me.” You will be able to obtain a great many graces 
for both of us, for the “whole family,” as some one used to 
say, for the missionaries in the “field afar,” for the League, 
Our Holy Father, the Pope, and the whole Church. I saw a 
remarkable sentence in a late copy of the “Field Afar.” 
Its purpose was to show that he whose heart is large enough 
to embrace in its solicitude the distant missions will not 
neglect domestic interests, for “the whole already includes 
the part” and what could possibly be wanting to one who 
imitates so closely the generosity and immolation of the 
Divine Heart! 

Asking many prayers for “both of us,” 

Your devoted son in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

[ 130 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


In the summer of 1914 Father Rene was sent by superiors 
to Seattle for a few months as they deemed the change would 
prove beneficial. Young McCormick went along as com¬ 
panion and nurse. We have two letters of his from that city, 
both to his beloved sister. 


Seattle College, 
July 15, 1914. 

Dear Sister:— 

It is still the month of the Most Precious Blood, and so I 
write to you, as you may already surmise, with the object of 
asking more prayers. This seems rather selfish, does it not? 
But I remember that the Master of Novices used to say that 
such selfishness was pardonable, for who does not need 
prayers? And how will he obtain them unless he ask for 
them ? ‘ ‘ Ask and you shall receive ! ’ ’ 

We were united in prayer, especially on the feast of the 
Most Precious Blood, at the Elevation of the Sacred Chalice; 
and I noted that it was held aloft longer than usual, as the 
Infinite Price of our Redemption pleaded with irresistible 
power. Since that blessed day there has been a marked im¬ 
provement in the health of Father Rene, and he wishes me 
to thank you and your community for your admirable 
charity in praying so fervently for him. Do not cease your 
fervent supplications, and let us beg the Sacred Heart to 
supply for all that is wanting in our thanksgiving. 

Perhaps you would like to know what was the other 
intention for which I asked your prayers? Well, it is some¬ 
thing regarding myself, but Father Rene says it is quite 
proper to tell you. I have, as you know, finished Philoso¬ 
phy, and there may be an opportunity of going to Theology 
next September. That would mean that I would, please God, 
be ordained in three years; otherwise it might be necessary 
to wait five years for that happy day. Father Rene, as also 
the doctor, thinks that my health would not last in the work 
of the colleges. Of course, all is left to the decision of 
superiors. Pray that God’s Holy Will be done! 

[ 131 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


The Sacred Heart has helped me wonderfully in the 
final examinations. Commend to that Adorable Furnace of 
Charity this other intention that the result be for Its greater 
honor and glory and the salvation of souls. Now is the time 
to storm heaven as the matter is being considered and 
weighed. And let us also when the feast of St. Ignatius 
approaches make a fervent novena to him for these inten¬ 
tions, but above all for the Society which he founded, — the 
Society of Jesus, that all its members may “walk worthy of 
the vocation to which they have been called” and the whole 
body, united ever faithfully to the Pope, Christ’s Vicar, may 
fulfil perfectly the grand aim of the institute “to procure 
the greater glory of God.” 

Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu, 

Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Seattle College, 

Seattle, Washington, 
July 19, 1914. 

Dear Sister:— 

There is something good to tell you. The prayers you 
offered and caused to be offered for that special intention of 
which I spoke in my last letter, have been answered. This 
morning, Father Provincial told me that I am to go to 
Theology this year. Just think what that means! I’ll be 
ordained in three years! Then, please God, I will repay 
your many prayers and sacrifices by offering Holy Mass for 
you and your community. It is remarkable that this answer 
came so soon after I had asked for your prayers. You see 
that Our Lord lends an attentive ear to your petitions since 
to offer such is, in a special way, your vocation; and I am 
sure that some sacrifice, unnoticed perhaps and apparently 
trifling, must have won this answer from His Sacred Heart. 
Let us render Him in return Its Infinite Thanksgiving. 

Father Rene is much stronger now; he took a good walk 
to-day, and climbed a rather steep hill. We visit our Church 
of the Immaculate Conception each day. It is very large 

[ 132 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and beautiful in the interior, inspiring a spirit of deep recol¬ 
lection and prayer. 

You will continue earnestly to pray for Father Rene, I 
am sure; and we will all make together the Novena to St. 
Ignatius, which commences next Wednesday, the 22nd, pray¬ 
ing for the intentions I already mentioned, and that, if it 
please God, Father Rene may be entirely cured; in thanks¬ 
giving also for the favors obtained. 

Pray besides, during these days, for our community at 
Spokane, for those who are to make the annual retreat there 
in preparation for the Feast of St. Ignatius. We will make 
our retreat later for the Feast of the Assumption; and then, 
please God, return to Spokane via Portland. This through 
the kind attention of Father Provincial who suggested that 
I go and see you. I shall not omit to visit the Mount of 
“Thabor’s Glorified.” Another brief intention: pray that I 
may go to Woodstock, Maryland, for Theology. Father 
Rene tells me that would be the best place on account of 
climate, and for other important reasons. 

Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[133] 










THE FIFTH PART 


Looking Toward the Altar of 
Melchisedech 

“The wise man will seek out the wisdom of all the ancients, and will 
be occupied in the prophets. He will keep the sayings of renowned 
men, and will enter withal into the subtilities of parables. He will 
search out the hidden meanings of proverbs, and will be conversant 
in the secrets of parables.” Eccles. xxxix. 1, 2, 3. 














■ 




























CHAPTER I 


“And he got his people great honor, and put on a breast¬ 
plate as a giant, and girt his warlike armour about him in 
battles, and protected the camp with his sword.” 

1 Mach. hi. 3. 

F ROM TIME out of mind warriors and warlike deeds 
have been the burden of songs and romances. In the 
histories of Greece, Sparta, Africa and Rome we read of 
scarcely aught else but the panoply of battle, the din of con¬ 
flict, the glory of victory, the exaltation of the hero of the 
fray. Nor have modern ideas radically changed this view¬ 
point of the ages. Today, as in the time of Virgil we sing 
“Arma virumque” to our children at the knee. We seem to 
think that a nation’s glory is measured by the number of 
military leaders it produces; and we forget to place before 
the mind of the younger generation another criterion of 
glory — another warrior, the soldier of the cross, who first 
conquers his own cowardly spirit and then fares forth to 
subject the whole outward world to Christ. Say what we 
may, we have behind us a military tradition; and we shall 
never have a virile Catholic life in our midst until we have a 
Catholic tradition, — until we saturate our children and our 
children’s children with love, veneration and hero-worship 
for the Saints. 

Nor can the excuse be urged that the lives of the saints 
are generally written in an insipid unattractive way, for, no 
matter in what way they be written, we can nevertheless in¬ 
terpret them to the little ones in a fashion suitable to their 


[137] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


intelligence and disposition. And what we many times for¬ 
get is that, though their intellect may not be fully developed, 
they notwithstanding make up for this by their great sim¬ 
plicity, their innocence, and avidity for stories. 

Only yesterday Ignatia, in bringing back some pages 
from young McCormick’s life which she had just read, re¬ 
marked to me: 

“Padre, the Prince was a real thoroughbred!” 

“What prompts you to make that assertion?” I ques¬ 
tion. 

“Well, it seems to me that he becomes braver — that he 
runs a better race as he nears the end of the course.” 

The child’s words were quite true and besides showed the 
interest she took in hagiography. Always an innocent youth, 
always an exemplary religious, young McCormick somehow 
outstrips himself in these last few years of his career. The 
thought that soon he would be permitted to ascend the altar 
of God acted as a strong stimulant in urging him on to 
greater self-sacrifice, to greater generosity. His letters at 
this period are ample proof for our contention. On Septem¬ 
ber 7th, 1914 he writes to his mother from Montreal: 

Dear Mother, 

Arrived here at our beautiful scholasticate of the 
Immaculate Conception on yesterday morning. The prayers 
offered at Montavilla have brought me safely to another 
Royal Mountain. This city, as you may have heard, was 
placed under the patronage of the Blessed Virgin by the 
missionaries of the early days. To-morrow, the feast of the 
Nativity of the Blessed Mother, all your intentions will be 
remembered in my prayers. Let us thank the Sacred Heart, 
through His Virgin Mother, for the ready answer given our 
prayers. Tell Papa to keep on the firing line, and also that 
I am learning French. 


[138] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Well, I will write a longer letter next time. This one 
was to let yon know that I am well, and here, at last, in the 
blessed haven of Theology. Be assured of a fervent remem¬ 
brance in my prayers and daily Communion. 

Your devoted son in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
October 8,1914. 

Dear Mother: 

Your last letter was received in due time. During this 
beautiful “Month of the Rosary” I have not forgotten to 
give you and Papa a very special intention whilst hearing 
Mass. If it please God, it will not be long before I can give 
you both a very special “memento’’ whilst saying Mass. 
But in the meantime there is much to acquire. First of all 
as regards sanctity; secondly, as regards knowledge in that 
science which is all sacred since it relates only to God, 
Theology. Your prayers, especially at Mass and Holy Com¬ 
munion, will help very much to obtain this desire of mine. 

As yet I have received no word from Sister Mary of the 
Infant Jesus but I know that she received my letter and is 
probably waiting to send me a share of the lights she ob¬ 
tained on her special feast day. 

That book you gave me, entitled “The Heart of Jesus of 
Nazareth,” was very beautiful and very practical. I read 
it from the beginning to the end. There is another very 
beautiful pamphlet, called “0 Cor Amoris.” The copy you 
sent is still among my manuscripts. Now and then, I read 
parts of it, especially the words of Father Pardow where he 
sets forth so admirably and with such deep simplicity the 
essence of devotion to the Sacred Heart. The little pamphlet, 
which you have, published in London, I believe, is also a very 
simple and powerful explanation of the same devotion. 

[139] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Trusting for fervent prayers, especially when you are at 
the “Early Morning Sacrifice,” 

Your devoted son 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
October 11, 1914. 

Dear Sister, 

On the desk before me is a little picture, which on descrip¬ 
tion, you will remember having seen. The chief object rep¬ 
resented in it is the Sacred Heart, surrounded by a bright 
halo from which dart forth long beams of light. From the 
open wound, the Precious Blood is falling, drop by drop, and 
lo! to receive them a snow-white dove beneath has bent its 
adoring head. There beneath is also the missal, and at one 
side a blessed candle with a lily twined about it, and on the 
other side the wheat and grapes that typify the Holy Sacri¬ 
fice. The picture is unchanged just as it was received, not 
much more than a year ago, when one more soul joined that 
sacred choir that ever sing a new Canticle, and dove-like 
fluttered to the foot of the altar, there to be espoused to the 
“Lamb.” 

What would you like to know about this beautiful place ? 
First of all, the scholasticate. It is a large long building with 
two wings; in one of which is our large and devotional chapel, 
dedicated to Mary Immaculate. In the other wing down¬ 
stairs is the entrance, the porter’s office and the parlor, and 
upstairs there is a small chapel and the large sacristy that 
leads into our Church, L Tmmaculee-Conception. The Church 
is one that inspires devotion, large, built of heavy stone, with 
a tall graceful spire. In front of the scholasticate there is a 
large garden, and a much larger one behind it with long 
shady walks amidst tall whispering trees. So now you have 
some idea of our situation. Next time I will tell you about 
the beauty of the City, with its wonderful churches, its 
picturesque mountain, from which it has been named, though 

[140] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


its original name was the “City of Mary/’ for our mission¬ 
aries consecrated it to Mary Immaculate. 

Trusting for very fervent mementos in your prayers, 
that all of us may advance with great strides in the service 
of Our Divine Leader and His Holy Mother, Our Queen 
Immaculate. 

Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
November 12, 1914. 

Dear Mother: 

Received the two postal cards. The one with the picture 
of the Mission, Nuestra Senora, was of special interest. The 
Mission Churches have a beauty all their own, but one must 
have been in a great and ancient city, like Montreal, to 
appreciate the excellence and grandeur of Gothic art, in the 
tapering spires, the lofty arches, the high-vaulted beauti¬ 
fully-frescoed ceilings of stately cathedrals. I use the word 
“cathedrals,” because the churches here are so large and 
majestic. 

So you have been making a visitation not “in the hill 
country,” but by the shores of the sounding sea! What a 
great grace it would be to bring about the conversion of one, 
who like Newman is searching for the “Kindly Light!” May 
the Sacred Heart of Jesus inspire you that you may use the 
means which is best suited to obtain this happy result, and 
by His all-powerful grace, complete and confirm it! 

How is the work of the “Helpers of the Holy Souls” 
progressing? No doubt you are doing special work for them 
this month. Does Papa keep on the firing line ? And during 
your absence has he made the daily protest against Jan¬ 
senism at the “Early Morning Paradise?” And the League, 
and the Sodality? No doubt he is a fervent promoter and a 
devoted, regular sodalist. But I am very glad to hear this 
from you again, and hence I ask these questions. 

[141] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Just received to-day from California the notice of the 
death of Brother Burke, who was for a long time with Father 
Culligan at San Jose. You will, I am sure, pray for him. 
Remember also in your prayers some of our Fathers and 
Scholastics, not of this community, however, who are sick, 
especially one Father who just came back from France, and 
a Novice who may not live. 

Now is the time to obtain many favors, and to exercise 
true charity, — the charity that looks to the soul, for it is the 
“Month of the Holy Souls.” And those true friends of God, 
so dear to Him, will in His imitation, be most generous in 
returning a hundredfold all that we do for them. 

We are now studying “De Verbo Incarnato,” the 
Theological treatise on the Incarnate Word, the Eternal Son 
of God, made Man for our salvation. This study is full of 
consolation, full of practical applications, most useful for us, 
and for our work of saving souls and of spreading every¬ 
where a deep knowledge and love of our merciful Redeemer. 
When we see so many people hurrying to and fro, distracted, 
frivolous, or with sinister looks of evil-doers, we cannot 
help saying to ourselves, “Oh, if they only knew, if they 
only knew One, Who, with an intense, personal love for each 
of them, for their salvation, descended from high heaven!” 

Recommending myself to your prayers especially 
“Coram Sanctissimo,” and at the “Early Morning Sacri¬ 
fice,” 

Your devoted son in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

A few days later Adrian writes to his sister: 

Dear Sister, 

No doubt you are praying much for the Souls in Purga¬ 
tory during this month, offering some extra sacrifices, though 
of course you are habitually mindful of those who are de¬ 
tained in that fiery prison during the other months of the 
year too. Please remember in your prayers one of our Fathers, 
Father Nolin, and also a Novice, Brother Cote, who died 
recently. The Novice died near midnight, on the eve of the 

[142] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


feast of St. Stanislaus. He may already be in heaven with 
his beloved Patron and Brother. 

A few days ago I received a letter from Father Rene in 
which he told me that he still wears that little cord which 
has obtained so many cures, the Cord of the Most Precious 
Blood. He is very grateful to you for sending it, says that 
he does not forget you nor the community there, and recom¬ 
mends himself to your prayers. You will, I am sure, con¬ 
tinue to pray and obtain prayers for him. From a postal 
received not long ago from Mama I learned that she has 
been paying a visit of charity to a sick friend. This woman 
is anxiously seeking for the True Religion. Pray for her 
that God may enlighten her mind and strengthen her will to 
follow the light. What a gift we possess in our Holy Faith! 
St. Teresa vividly realized this and repeated with deep emo¬ 
tion just before dying: “I am a child of the Holy Roman 
Catholic Church.” And what an ineffable gift we, especially 
“both of us,” have received through the mercy and love of 
the Sacred Heart to belong to His chosen company of nearest 
friends, to be His religious. Let us thank Him and beg un¬ 
ceasingly to become saints. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
December 27, 1914. 

Dear -Mother: 

Your letter and beautiful Christmas gift, “the Prayer 
for Priests,” came in good time. That prayer is a wonder¬ 
ful one, full of unction; you may be sure that I prize it 
highly. 

Christmas, in Montreal, the “Rome of America,” is 
indeed a happiness never to be forgotten. The “Cribs,” so 
many, so varied, and inspiring devotion. The fervent wor¬ 
shippers many of them almost as poor as those first ones 
“the Shepherds,” and for this reason, more enlightened to 
know and feel the wonders which the Divine Infant, reveals 

[143] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“to little ones”: — all contribute to make this Holy Season, 
in Montreal, doubly attractive. 

Received word from St. Louis and Woodstock, from our 
Scholastics, of the California Province, whom I knew in 
Spokane, and who have commenced Theology this year. They 
were anxious to know how I was getting along in the Cana¬ 
dian winter and I could tell them that I have been always 
stronger here, than in Spokane. 

It must have been a source of great consolation to you, 
to see what an interest .Father takes in us. His idea 
of sanctity is certainly a practical one. No doubt it corres¬ 
ponds with that of Father Ginhac, who said once to his Reli¬ 
gious, that he intended by the instructions, he was about to 
give, to lead them as closely as possible in the footsteps of 
Christ, Our Lord, but that they must remember that those 
Sacred footprints lead to Calvary, and that if they sincerely 
loved their Saviour and Model, they must become crucified 
with Him. This saintly Father Ginhac, was an Apostle of 
the Sacred Heart. The life must be very striking and in¬ 
spiring. 

Your devoted son in Corde Jesu 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
February 14, 1915. 

Dear Mother : 

The little book you sent entitled “Supernatural Merit,” 
and your letter arrived in good time. We had just been 
considering the question of merit, condign and congruous 
with regard to the Sacred Humanity of Our Lord, and hence 
I read the book with great interest. I have not finished it 
yet, but will tell you soon what I think of it. If you wish 
me to return it to you afterwards, tell me in your next 
letter. If not I will make good use of it. 

The incident on the “firing line” was thrilling. A 
number of like incidents would greatly augment “Super¬ 
natural Merit.” Although you told me such consoling things 

[144] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of Papa, especially of his zeal as a Promoter of the League 
of the Sacred Heart, and of his regularity as a Sodalist, you 
did not say anything about yourself. If I am not mistaken, 
I once saw your Promoter’s Diploma. In the next letter 
tell me if you are still a Promoter, and especially whether 
you belong to the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, and attend 
all its meetings. Of course I mean those meetings which are 
held for the recitation of the Office of the Blessed Virgin 
every Sunday, after which the members hear Holy Mass in 
their chapel and receive Holy Communion together. Meet¬ 
ings other than these, that is for business affairs, for enter¬ 
tainments, you would not be required to attend I am sure, 
if you gave as a reason your absorbing works of charity for 
the poor and afflicted. 

How glad I was to hear that you are reading the “Life 
of Father Pardow, S. J.” ^e have it here. I found it very 
interesting, especially since I recalled many of the things 
narrated, having heard them at the time he was in California 
giving a retreat and preaching the Lent. Father Giacobbi 
used to speak very highly of him. 

The enclosed card bears a fairly good picture of the 
Altar of the Immaculate Conception in our domestic chapel. 
Before it we daily hear Holy Mass and receive “Our Viati¬ 
cum in Life and Death,” before it we are ordained priests, 
empowered to offer up the All-powerful, All-atoning Sacri¬ 
fice, before it I daily at the Memento and in the Thanks¬ 
giving pray for you and Papa, trusting that “both of you” 
fervently do the same for “both of us.” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 9, 1915. 

Dear Mother: 

No doubt you are wondering why your last letter was 
not answered sooner; but I must not begin to make excuses. 
It is my wish and daily prayer that our Risen Lord may 

[145] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


cause the joy of His resurrection to remain with you always, 
—'that joy and peace which nothing can disturb, which no 
one can take away, since it is His gift, keeping its place in 
the inmost soul. Storms may ruffle the mere surface of the 
soul; storms in some faint way similar to those which the 
great champions, the Saints and Martyrs endured, or to that 
immeasurable tempest of desolation and anguish that op¬ 
pressed the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Gethsemane, but these 
can never attain the inmost sanctuary, the superior part of 
the soul, which, like that of our Divine Model, by the power 
of His grace, remains in peace, that peace “which surpasseth 
all understanding. ’ ’ 

This is what Father Trivelli meant, I believe, when he 
spoke of sanctity, saying that it is the one thing in which 
nothing can hinder us; time, place, or circumstance, or 
person, cannot rob us. And it is granted to those who 
earnestly beg it, who desire it, and the Holy Spirit Himself 
inspires and urges us to beg it, “Who Himself asketh for us, 
with unspeakable groanings.” The prayer which He inspires 
is sure to be heard. When we have attained sanctity, and 
are progressing towards its perfection, since it consists in 
the union of our will with the Divine Will (however crucify¬ 
ing that union may be), and since the will is the interior for¬ 
tress, the superior part of the soul protected and guided by 
Divine Grace, — who can rob us of our treasure, who can 
hinder that advance, which is made under such protection 
and guidance? All places, and circumstances, all storms, 
attain merely to the outer wall of the fortress, provided the 
interior be entirely abandoned to the care and guidance of 
its Lord. Father Caussade S. J. in his little book “LAban¬ 
don a la Providence Divine,” which is now translated into 
English, speaks very beautifully on the simplicity of the 
soul’s co-operation. In one place he. uses almost the exact 
words of Father Trivelli. He shows how “those circum¬ 
stances” far from being obstacles, are but means to promote 
the work selected by Wisdom Itself. If you could only read 
that little book! Lately also I have been reading the Auto¬ 
biography and Letters of Blessed Margaret Mary. It is a 

[146] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


wonderful life, and an example of how circumstances, obsta¬ 
cles, were but the means of advancement, of glorifying and 
spreading far and wide the knowledge and love of the Most 
Sacred Heart of Jesus. The Cross, which she calls her 
treasure in the Adorable Heart of Jesus, accompanied her 
and her Apostleship at every step, in fact she said she did not 
know what to speak about unless the subject were the Cross 
of our Blessed Lord; and that w T hen questioned with regard 
to the favors He had conferred upon her, she could not speak 
of anything save of the happiness of suffering with Him, for 
nothing was so precious in this life — for those who loved 
Him — than to suffer for His love. 

That little book, “The Crucifix,” is very interesting and 
has an unique development, with a special unction. I have 
not read it all yet. The poem is very beautiful, and has a 
truly martial strain; and I trust, with the help of God’s 
grace, to fulfill its counsels. Best and prayerful wishes to 
Papa for lasting Easter joy! How glad I was to hear of his 
zeal as a Promoter and as a member of the Sodality! 

Trusting for fervent prayers, 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
May 16, 1915. 

Dear Sister: 

Again the beautiful month of the Blessed Virgin has 
come and I am sure that you are praying with redoubled 
fervor during these days of grace, and that I have a share 
in your zealous petitions “Coram Sanctissimo.” Do not 
forget to make a memento for our Theologians who are to be 
ordained next month, probably on the feast of Saint Peter 
and Saint Paul. 

We will then have five new priests. Next year there 
will be nine more, and in the following year, 1917, those who 
have just begun their course last September hope to be or¬ 
dained. We are six in number. Next Wednesday we will 

[ 147 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


commence the repetitions preparatory to the examinations, 
which latter commence on the 18th of June. You will I am 
sure daily recommend to the Divine Heart of Jesus Crucified 
these repetitions and examinations that we may all, by His 
grace, work zealously and faithfully in them, and that the 
result he to His greater glory. 

You are also busily occupied in learning the greatest of 
sciences, the science of the Saints, the science of sacrifice in 
union with the Divine Victim. Close to the Altar, to the 
daily Calvary, you hear in loving silence the words of Divine 
Wisdom, the Wisdom of the Cross. “Oh, if Jesus Crucified 
were to come into our hearts, how quickly and sufficiently 
learned we should become! ” says the author of the Imitation 
of Christ. 

Since I began this letter I received your own from which 
I learn that you have been favored with a special share in 
the Cross of your Beloved, the Infant Jesus, sharing in the 
helplessness of His Crib. Could there be a greater mark of 
His tender love for you? Surely not, for to His chosen ones 
and best beloved He ever gives a special share in His Cross, 
— it is the link which keeps us united to Him, transforms us 
more and more into the flames of His Pure Love, into the 
Divine Furnace, the Sacred Heart. Now your prayers 
united to His ceaseless pleadings on the Altar, your suffer¬ 
ings united to His own, to His perpetual Sacrifice in Holy 
Mass, will have by His grace a double efficacy; and will 
cause the merits of His Most Precious Blood to be applied 
with infallible effect to souls that are dying or even dead. 
This is my daily prayer for you that you make the best 
possible use of so precious an opportunity of co-operating 
with Him for the salvation and perfection of souls! That 
forgetting as much as possible your own pains you keep your 
eyes fixed steadily upon Him Who in the tiny crib, and on 
the Cross, looks at you with great love, consoled and relieved 
by the reparation you offer His Sacred Heart in suffering 
with Him, and forgetting self to think of Him and of how 
much more He suffers, of how men so continually offend 
Him! 


[ 148 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


I have written to Father Rene, and am sure that he will 
say the Mass you requested for your Mistress, Sister Mary 
of the Blessed Sacrament, either on the feast of Corpus 
Christi, or on some day during the Octave. In the letter I 
asked him to let me know soon so that I could tell you when 
I write for the feast; and of course I asked him to pray for 
you especially in Holy Mass. Say nothing of your illness to 
Mother as it would make her anxious, and you surely wish 
to spare her any useless worry; besides being in the best of 
hands, having the care of the King of Physicians, Our Divine 
Lord Himself. If it is His Will you will soon recover, and it 
were best in this case that your illness be kept a secret. To 
suffer in silence, in joy, by the strength of His love Who 
suffered far more for you, — let this be your constant resolu¬ 
tion and prayer! 

In your next letter tell me whether you have any Holy 
Water of Lourdes at the Monastery. If you have not, I will 
send you some. How often I have experienced its salutary 
effects! Thanks to the ineffable love of Mary Immaculate! 
Whether we live or die we are Mary’s, and our cherished 
desire and constant prayer is that we may breathe forth our 
soul into Her hands, with ardent love and perfect confidence. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

P. S. I saw lately a notice requesting prayers for a religious 
of the Precious Blood, Sister Mary of Nazareth, who died at 
the Convent of Three Rivers on the 11th inst. Do you re¬ 
ceive a notice there when any of your Order die in Canada? 
I am almost sure you do, but if not, I will tell you whenever 
I chance to see such a notice. 

“Blessed are they that wash their robes in the Blood of 
the Lamb: that they may have a right to the tree of life, and 
may enter in by the gates into the city. ’ ’ Apoc. xxn. 14. 

A few days later he writes again to his sister. 

Dear Sister: 

No doubt you have been striving to make the best of the 
share in His Cross which the Divine Infant gave you. He 

[ 149 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


will not give yon more to suffer than you can bear for He 
will always be with you to strengthen you. He will give 
you especially the strength of His love which is “stronger 
than death,” and by which, esteeming your sufferings light 
in comparison with His Own, you will even desire to suffer 
more to be like to Him. “To be like Him,” these were the 
words used by a little Indian boy who was rendered helpless 
by illness, and who had been asked by one of our mission¬ 
aries whether he would like to make a novena to St. Igna¬ 
tius for his cure. “I do not want to be cured,” he replied, 
and, pointing to the Crucifix which hung near the bed, he 
added, “I want to be like Him.” 

This anecdote made a great impression when told by 
one of our Fathers during the annual retreat. In it we are 
shown in a simple way what is the Third Degree of Humility, 
the height of perfection, the closest possible imitation of Our 
Blessed Lord. When we come to desire sufferings, and not 
merely bear them patiently but even rejoice and are happy 
to suffer because we desire “to be like Him,” ah then! we 
give Him solid proofs of our love. 

I have been reading some of the writings of Blessed 
Margaret Mary, for whose canonization we pray during this 
month according to the intention of the League of the Sacred 
Heart. How ardent was her desire for sufferings! She 
declared that it was almost impossible for her to speak of 
anything else save the Cross. “La Croix est ma gloire, 
1’Amour m’y conduit, l’Amour me possede, 1’Amour me 
suffit.” 

In my last letter I told you that I had written to Father 
Rene, and that I was sure he would say the Mass you re¬ 
quested. Not having received his answer as soon as I had 
expected, and concluding that he was sick, I asked Father 
Rector if he would say the Mass for the intention desired. 
He very kindly did so today, the eve of the feast of Corpus 
Christi. No doubt you will prove yourself grateful by pray¬ 
ing for him, and obtaining prayers for his intentions. The 
21st of this month is the feast of his patron, St. Aloysius. 

To-morrow, the feast of Corpus Christi, Father Dugas, 

[ 150 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


my teacher in theology will say Mass for your Mistress, 
Sister Mary of the Blessed Sacrament. You will prove your 
gratitude for this favor, I am sure, by praying and obtaining 
prayers for him. But I have more to tell you. Today I 
received a letter from Father Rene in which he says he will 
say Holy Mass to-morrow for your Mistress, and will have 
each day a special memento for you in his Mass. Now, per¬ 
haps, you would like to have a Mass said for yourself. Well, 
thank the Sacred Heart for this favor, for a week from next 
Friday Father Couture, our teacher in Hebrew, will say Mass 
for you, first intention. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[ 151 ] 


CHAPTER II 


“For I judged not myself to know anything among you but 


1 Cor. ii. 2. 


Jesus Christ, and Him crucified.” 


HEN Adrian was about six years old,” writes his 



V V sister, ‘‘he regularly preached to his playmates about 
God. It seems to have been understood that I should make 
part of the congregation, and evidently he thought I needed 
reformation for much of his fiery eloquence was directed 
towards me. I still recall the impression or rather depression 
made upon me by these sermons. They were heavy and se¬ 
vere and reminded one very much of the kind preached at a 
mission. After one sermon I vividly remember being lined 
up, with all my dolls in my hands, to go to confession. It 
was all quite solemn; and Adrian was quite amused when I 
spoke to him as a priest of those by-gone days, I told him I 
felt like Father Tabb when he became a convert, and Alfred 
Curtis (afterwards Bishop Curtis: also a convert) was or¬ 
dained priest. Mr. Tabb who had been his penitent as a 
Protestant, hurried to be the first to enter Father Curtis’ 
confessional, saying to his friends: ‘I received so many 
absolutions before that did not count, I wanted one at least 
that did.’” 

“At this period too, Adrian” — continues his sister — 
“manifested a great desire to mortify himself. He must 
have read something about penance in the lives of the saints; 
or else he thought he ought to practice what he preached, 
for he would often blister himself with wild nettles. He 
encouraged me to do the same and we suffered considerable 


[ 152 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


pain, especially when he was more ardent and suggested 
that we apply the nettles to the parts already blistered be¬ 
fore they were healed. 

“Adrian understood too that to strike one’s breast dur¬ 
ing the confiteor and at the Agnus Dei was intended as a 
penance, and was surely very brave and generous in carrying 
out this idea. The heavy thud of his little fist upon his 
breast was always part of the ceremonial of night prayers. 
We knelt side by side before the statue of Our Lady that 
Adrian loved so well. He observed that I did not strike my¬ 
self with vigor and admonished me for a want of fervor, 
telling me to do exactly as he did next time. After that 
he would keep his eye on me and make me a sign to strike 
harder. I found it hurt too much and dreaded that part of 
the prayer. There was never any pretence about Adrian’s 
penance; it was genuine and — it hurt. ” 

This early inclination toward penance and self-denial 
increased and became more marked as his religious life 
rolled by. It manifested itself chiefly in the exact manner 
he observed his rules. So well known was he for keeping 
every custom and enactment of superiors that his Rector at 
Montreal held him up to the others as a shining example of 
religious observance. One day the Rector, in speaking with 
a young scholastic from California, said: “Your Province is 
certainly blessed in having such a good religious as young 
McCormick. Are all the Californians as good as he?” 
“Well,” jokingly returned the scholastic, “all the Cali¬ 
fornians are good religious like Father McCormick, but they 
are very skilful in hiding their virtues behind a cloak of 
humility so that they are almost invisible.” 

This fervor and self-denial breathes from every page of 
his letters. To Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus he writes: 


[ 153 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Each day I have been praying for you after Holy Com¬ 
munion, and for your superiors and the whole community, 
confident that you do the same for me and for our community 
here. I asked the Divine Heart of Jesus, through the inter¬ 
cession of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, His Blessed 
Mother, to make you a victim of His consuming love, and to 
give you in the reception of His Most Precious Blood all its 
energy, the fortitude divine that sustained and impelled the 
martyrs. The illuminated card explaining the treasures of 
the Mass struck me forcibly. “Vita cordis amor,” St. 
Thomas says: “Divine Love is the life of the heart.” And 
“love is sacrifice” united to that priceless, perpetual sacri¬ 
fice. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Hue Rachel, Montreal, 
October 5, 1915. 

Dear Mother: 

The first month of the scholastic year has passed, and 
we are now in the month of the Holy Rosary. Last Sunday, 
the feast of the Holy Rosary was celebrated in our church. 
There was a solemn high Mass and sermon in the morning 
and, at night, a procession in which the statue of the Blessed 
Virgin was carried through the church: then there was sol¬ 
emn Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. 

It was my happiness to be sub-deacon during the pro¬ 
cession and at Benediction. I did not forget you nor Papa 
on that great feast. If God so wills, you will soon be remem¬ 
bered by me in the “Memento” of my first Mass, for the 
time of ordination is now approaching very rapidly. If 
God spares you and Papa till that happy day I will render 
thanksgiving to Him by that most powerful means, Holy 
Mass. 

In all things may His Holy Will be done, and by His 
grace let us keep ever ready for “at what hour you think 
not, the Son of Man will come.” Whatever the future may 

[ 154 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


be, the present is the only certain time we have to attain 
sanctity. Each moment then is precious. And if the flying 
moments are spent in the exercise of charity with the motive 
power of love, the Love of the Sacred Heart, and the promo¬ 
tion of Its interests, we shall not dread death, but will ex¬ 
perience the truth of those words of Blessed Margaret Mary 
that it is indeed sweet to die after having had a tender devo¬ 
tion to the Divine Heart of Him Who is to be our judge. 
When you write tell me about the League, Papa’s work as 
Promoter at the Sodality, and at the “Early Morning Para¬ 
dise!” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 

Dear Sister: 

May Our Lord Himself be the reward of your prayers 
and those you have procured for our Fathers and for the 
intentions I recommended to you. Sometimes, just when I 
need it most, I receive light and strength, which I feel is due 
to prayers that are being offered for me. This was especially 
the case during the retreat. If I felt so, what must the 
others, my Brothers, have felt who are so fervent! 

The letter of your dear Mistress was, in a special way, a 
lesson to me of great gratitude, of prayerful thoughtfulness 
for others, even in the midst of great personal affliction, and 
especially of how Our Lord is accustomed to send frequent 
and heavy crosses to His own that they may in very deed be 
crucified with Him, united to His unceasing sacrifice upon 
the altar. 

It is only in the splendor of eternal life that we will see 
how full of wisdom were all His dispositions in our regard; 
how they were all so many artifices of His love to withdraw 
us from all that is not Himself, and centre our hearts within 
His Own Divine Heart. We have not yet shed our blood for 
Him, but Its last drop, the last of His Most Precious Blood 
was shed for us. Tell your dear Mistress that I have had two 

[ 155 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Masses offered for the repose of the soul of her sister. The 
first was said by Father Coallier S. J. who gave also a 
“Memento of the Living” for Sister Mary of the Cross; the 
second Mass was said by Father Loiseau S. J. this morning. 
You will in your gratitude pray and obtain prayers for them. 
Father Loiseau is about to give a retreat. Pray for its suc¬ 
cess. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
December 30, 1915. 

Dear Mother, 

This letter will reach you no doubt before the feast of 
the Epiphany, which is considered to be a second Christmas, 
so it is not too late to wish you the very special graces of the 
Divine Infant during this holy season, and for the New Year. 

You asked me what I thought of the little book entitled, 
“The Service of the Sacred Heart.” It is very devout and 
practical. I was very happy to read it, and also the last 
book you sent entitled “Friends and Apostles of the Sacred 
Heart.” 

What an insight the latter work gives of the lives of the 
contemporaries of Blessed Margaret Mary, and of Venerable 
de la Colombiere! 

The two illuminated cards, which the cripple made, and 
which I am returning to you, are indeed very beautiful. 
The quotation in honor of the Blessed Mother is a treasure. 
It shows what a force sanctity is to win the Heart of God, 
and to win others to Him, — a sanctity that is without thrill¬ 
ing exterior manifestation of eloquence or wonder-working. 

The words of Lacordaire are grand and full of unction 
especially the last paragraph on the Most Sacred Name of 
Jesus. The lilies wrought on the front of the first card are 
wonderful — a work of art. Surely the maker has a remark¬ 
able talent for drawing and illuminating. I was unable to 
find that precious little work “The Twelve Promises,” in 

[ 156 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Montreal. Did you recover your copy? With best wishes to 
Papa for a happy, holy New Year “on the firing line/’ and 
trusting for very fervent prayers, 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
March 16,1916. 

Dear Sister, 

Your welcome letter came in good time. I did not for¬ 
get to pray and to obtain prayers for you and your com¬ 
munity that the retreat might bear much fruit for the greater 
glory of God, and that the fruit might remain. In return I 
wish to beg your prayers for one of our brothers, Brother 
Crowley, S. J. who died here suddenly on Ash Wednesday. 
You may be sure that he was expecting, yes, longing for 
death as the entry into Life Eternal, to endless union with 
Christ, Our Lord. 

He was of the number of those of whom our Lord said: 
“Blessed are those servants, whom when the Master shall 
come, He will find watching!” And He presently added: 
“Be ye therefore ready, for at what hour you think not, the 
Son of Man will come!” 

Do not forget to beg of St. Joseph for me, especially 
during this his month, the grace of a holy death in the 
Society, for this grace includes all others. I will ask him to 
obtain for you the grace of a holy death in the Order of the 
Precious Blood. Let us then ever pray fervently that when 
Our Lord comes to call us to Himself, we may be found 
“watching,” and that no matter how suddenly His coming 
be, we may have time — be it but an instant — to recollect 
ourselves, and breathe forth our souls to Him with contrite 
love. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

[ 157 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 13, 1916. 

Dear Sister: 

Just a few lines to let you know that Father Rene S. J., 
our dear friend, is dead. He died last Thursday, April 6, at 
two o’clock in the afternoon. You will pray most fervently 
and also obtain prayers for the repose of his soul, if indeed 
he is not already praying for us in heaven. Your pleadings, 
united with those of your fervent community, will have a 
special power during the last solemn hours of Lent, “at the 
shrine of the Blood adored, whilst with loving vigil you will 
keep the Supper of the Lord.” 

Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 30, 1916. 

Dear Mother, 

Received the little pamphlet entitled, “The Twelve 
Promises of Christ,” and the beautiful “Prayer for Priests.” 
Many thanks for them, and, though it is somewhat late, I 
return the Easter wishes! Is it your intention that I keep 
the little pamphlet? If so and if you have one yourself, I 
think I can use it for the development of sermons and re¬ 
treats afterwards. Let me know in your next letter. 

I found the part that had attracted my attention the 
first time. It is the seventh promise, “Tepid souls shall grow 
fervent.” The author seems to define tepidity as a state in 
which the soul contemns as trifling and of no worth things 
that the fervent esteem very much, “so as to prize them and 
never to neglect them. Not every neglect however,” he 
continues, “is tepidity. One who is fervent may still be 
occasionally negligent but not deliberately so.” Now it is by 
its own very nature that the homage which we pay to the 
Heart of Jesus delivers us from the miseries of a tepid life. 

Personal love, though as yet only in its early beginnings, 

[ 158 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


puts an end to tepidity, even while we are still far from being 
very generous lovers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 

As you may have noticed the date of this letter has been 
changed, because our Provincial of California, Father Glee- 
son paid us a visit, and I wished to tell you about his stay 
with us. He looked very well, despite his long travelling; 
and was as cheerful and amiable as ever. He liked Montreal 
very much on account of the piety shown by the people, and 
because of the numerous beautiful churches. He told me that 
yourself and Papa were at the early Mass at Saint Ignatius, 
and received Holy Communion from him. I was very glad 
to hear this and told him so. I trust that yourself and Papa 
will not even for one day miss the early Mass, and will each 
day receive Holy Communion, “the Life of our Life.” 

Do not forget in your prayers Father Jacquet S. J., who 
is very sick and will not, I think, live a month. His dear 
friend and ours, Father Rene, is, I believe, waiting for him in 
heaven. J , 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 

Dear Mother, 

From Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus comes the news 
that you have been anxious about my health, thinking that 
on account of the shaky penmanship of my former letter 
that I was ill. It is easy however to explain. I wrote in 
haste because it was the eve of our retreat, and I wished to 
mail the letter in time. Far from being ill, I felt quite strong, 
having not long before returned from a very good vacation 
at our villa at Bark Lake. We are now preparing for the 
glorious feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. No 
doubt you will pray very fervently for “both of us” on that 
beautiful day, very dear to me because it is the anniversary 
of my vows. Ask the Sacred Heart of Jesus, through the 
intercession of His Immaculate Mother, on her feast day, and 
each day, one grace which includes all others, namely,— 

[ 159 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


that I may live and die a saintly Jesuit, attaining the perfec¬ 
tion to which I am called. This is, I am sure, your daily 
prayer for me at the “Morning Paradise,” especially whilst 
you ask a similar grace for Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus, 
with regard to the religious congregation of which she is a 
member. The opening scholastic year is, as you know, my 
third in Theology; and next year at this time, if it please 
God, I will he a priest. The main thing, however, is to be¬ 
come a saint, and this is the clear Will of God. So redouble 
the fervor of your prayers for “both of us” that we may 
reach that high sanctity to which we are called, especially 
during this scholastic year. 

This month or next, those who are commencing the third 
year of Theology will undergo an examination in Moral 
Theology to see if we are prepared to hear confessions. You 
will, I am sure, pray for the success of this examination. 
After passing it with success we will not cease to study 
Moral Theology, for a priest must study it all his life, since 
there are new decrees of the Pope regarding, for example, 
ecclesiastical discipline; and these are issued frequently. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Yet not alone in his letters do we glimpse Adrian’s intense 
fervor and spirit of self-denial, but it was in his daily life 
too that it shone forth in spite of all his efforts to hide it from 
others. One of his companions in philosophy narrates how 
one morning, whilst making the round of the different rooms 
during the time of prayer, he caught Adrian in the act of 
hiding under his mattress a wude board, and, on further 
investigation, discovered that he was regularly accustomed 
to sleep on this board, and had been doing so, in all prob¬ 
ability, from novitiate days. This same scholastic also tells 
of passing his room one night when Adrian was retiring 
(superiors had ordered him to take more rest because of his 


[ 160 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


delicate condition of health), and of hearing the unmerciful 
manner in which he disciplined himself. 

This spirit of penance in Adrian made him hate and de¬ 
test any exemptions from common life; and yet it never 
interfered with his fulfilling to the letter the desires of 
superiors. He had the obedience of the early hermits,— 
that strong spirit of Faith that recognizes the voice of God 
in the decrees of superiors, whether these be commands re¬ 
pugnant to nature — orders like the patriarch received of 
old to sacrifice that which was nearest and dearest to him, 
or whether they be easy of fulfillment, according to natural 
desires, longings we almost unconsciously wish to see grati¬ 
fied. It was all the same to Adrian. He much preferred to 
spend whatever time was available in prayer before the 
Blessed Sacrament; but the spiritual father once told him 
that walking was healthy, and Adrian looked upon this as a 
command. You would see him tramping up and down 
through the snow nearly every afternoon with a book in his 
hand. Yet even in performing exactly whatever he thought 
superiors wished him to do, he nevertheless neglected no 
opportunity to punish himself. He would walk in the snow, 
but as often as he surmised no one was looking, he walked 
without gloves; just as he would obey superiors in retiring 
early and — sleep on a board. 

On these little excursions of his — and in fact at all 
times — he carried with him a holy picture. It was a small 
print of Our Lady della strada — a favorite one with St. 
Ignatius. This one of Adrian’s was quite black from being 
thumbed and handled. If Adrian walked, it was his book 
mark while he read; if he wrote a theme, it was placed on 
the lower left-hand sheet of the paper upon which he was 
engaged. Always he kept it before his eyes. It was the 


[ 161 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Prince’s way of telling Mary and her Divine Son that he 
longed to converse with them; but since he could not he 
would nevertheless keep her image before him, and tell her 
every little while that he loved her and longed to labor and 
die for her Son. This was the little wreath Adrian placed 
time over time each day at Mary’s feet,—his “Immortelles,” 
his “Everlastings,” the exquisite flower in its white and 
yellow tininess that told of his purity of affection and the 
gold of his gratitude, that proclaimed that not length of 
years nor strength of new friendships could ever change his 
love for her who bore Him Whom he loved as friend and 
honored as King, and Whom he would fight for until sun 
and moon had burnt to darkness. 


[ 162 ] 


CHAPTER III 


“Nor height nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able 
to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ 
Jesus our Lord.” Rom. vm. 39. 

I N FORMER chapters we have seen how Adrian from 
earliest childhood longed to suffer for Christ and even 
to die for Him. At six years of age he played at make- 
believe : he trained his Newfoundland dog to attack him while 
he acted the role of martyr. A few years later the make- 
believe gave way to reality, and we find him taking advantage 
of every opportunity that presented itself of suffering for 
Jesus. One of the most remarkable examples of this spirit 
occurred when he was twelve years old and a member of the 
Sanctuary Society at St. Ignatius Church. It was Holy 
Saturday and Adrian was among the acolytes who were 
chosen to take part in the chanting. With his gifted voice he 
acquitted himself admirably well, but one of the lads sung in 
a harsh tone and quite out of tune. The father in charge, 
when they reached the sacristy, asked: “Who chanted so 
wretchedly V’ One of the boys replied: “McCormick, 
Father!” Adrian did not show by word or sign that it was 
untrue and never sought to justify himself. This sacrifice 
must have cost him dearly as he was only a youngster, and 
youngsters smart under the lash of injustice. 

The motive power behind young McCormick’s desire for 
sufferings was his personal attachment to Christ and his in¬ 
tense love of His Sacred Heart. 

The famed banner of Duguesclin brought victory and 


[ 163 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


joy to France and le bon Dieu: Adrian wanted to unfurl the 
banner of the Sacred Heart before the whole world, to bring 
all under its sway, and thus eternally gladden the Heart of 
the Man-God. This devotion to the Sacred Heart was a living 
vital passion for One Who was more real and closer to him 
than his own father and mother. It totally consumed him, 
bringing out every ounce of loyalty in his frail little body. 
About this time he writes to his sister: 


“Do you ever when thinking of my intentions beg of our 
Lord for me the grace of being a martyr, and that after labor¬ 
ing as a missionary in a foreign land. If you have not done 
so, I trust you will do so in the future, for this is one of 
my intentions which I ardently desire to see fulfilled if such 
be God’s best pleasure. If you pray very much that my wish 
be realized, the time will, I am sure, be hastened when, 
through the goodness of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the 
intercession of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I will be one 
of those happy laborers in “The Field Afar,” and especially 
in that country toward which St. Francis Xavier turned his 
dying gaze, longing for its conversion—the vast kingdom 
of China.” 

Shortly after this we find him writing in the same strain 
to the Provincial. 


L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal. 

Reverend and dear Father Provincial: 

P. C. 

After earnest and continued thought and prayer, and 
with the approval of my spiritual father, I am humbly ask¬ 
ing to be allowed to go to the missions in China. 

This desire is not of recent birth but has been with me 
since my first Holy Communion. China has been in my 
thoughts particularly as the hope of martyrdom seemed more 
likely to be gratified there than anywhere else. 

I know that I am unworthy of the honor and privilege 

[ 164 ] 



Father Adrian, and his sister, Sister Mary Rose of the Infant Jesus, in the 
garden of the Monastery of the Precious Blood, Portland, Ore. 












ONCE UPON A TIME 


of being a missioner to China, but I nevertheless feel the 
longing. 

In submitting this request of mine to your Reverence I 
promise to accept as God’s holy will whatever in your wis¬ 
dom you decide. 

Commending myself to your Reverence’s Ploly Sacrifices 
and prayers, 

I am devotedly and affectionately, 
in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Father Provincial—the Reverend Richard A. Gleeson, 
S. j.—tellsdiow he submitted the above letter to his Provincial 
Consultors. These were unanimous in agreeing that they 
thought Adrian had a distinct vocation to the foreign mis¬ 
sions, and that his petition should be acceded to. Of course 
it was some months before the consultors met and Adrian 
received the happy answer to his wishes. In the meantime, 
full of holy fervor at the close approach of ordination day, 
we discover him writing to his mother. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal. 

October 14, 1916. 

Dear Mother:— 

No doubt you are expecting a letter and I must not be 
slow to fulfil your wish. The examination in Moral Theology, 
made in preparation for hearing confessions, is over. I passed 
on the first day of this month; and I succeeded owing, no 
doubt, to the many prayers offered for me. On the day of 
the examination I had a “Memento” in the Masses of.our 
fourth-year Theologians, that is to say of the nine priests 
who were ordained last July, on the feast of St. Ignatius. Be¬ 
sides at Mount Thabor praj^ers were offered on that day that 
all might be for God’s greater glory. 

In this our third year of Theology we have begun to 
study in a more special way the Holy Scripture. Of course 
all our proofs in Theology are drawn primarily from Holy 

[165] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Scripture; hence we have hitherto defended each thesis by 
a text, and will ever continue to do so. But besides this,-we 
now give extra time to the study not of texts here and there, 
but of the whole of the Sacred Scripture. 

Onty a few days ago I commenced to practice the reading 
of the Breviary. It is a long time yet before ordination, and 
it may be God’s will that I should die before that time, but 
nevertheless it is also His Holy Will that I should neglect 
nothing that becomes a worthy preparation for the exalted 
dignity of the priesthood. We who are in third year will soon 
receive new Breviaries, which were ordered not long ago. 

Today I am writing to Father Nugent of Des Moines to 
obtain from him my baptismal certificate. From the Direc¬ 
tory I learn that he is one of the bishop’s consultors. You 
have not told me anything lately about his present work in 
writing and in preaching. No doubt he is still as powerful 
in the pulpit as hitherto. When we read in the citations of 
the Holy Fathers the testimony of Saint Polycarp, I recall 
what you said of one of Fr. Nugent’s sermons. He was re¬ 
futing, I believe, the adversaries of the Church, and having 
mentioned with disdain one of their lying assertions, imme¬ 
diately added, “but Polycarp says.” And then he 

prostrated the enemy with a text drawn from the Saint’s 
writings. But the way he delivered that phrase, “Polycarp 
says, ’ ’—the lively faith and burning conviction of its enuncia¬ 
tion made one expect to see the door of the sacristy open, and 
the Saint himself walk forth to add living presence and vocal 
confirmation to the words of the eloquent preacher. 

This is the month of the Holy Rosary. I trust that you 
have and will continue to have a very special intention for 
“both of us,” the one on Thabor, the other in “Marianopoli,” 
the “City of Mary,”— the original name of Montreal j*iven 
it in the early days by our missionary Fathers. The following 
month will be that of the Holy Souls, to whom I know you 
have also a special devotion. We cannot do too much to help 
them. Some persons make an offering of all the satisfaction 
they gain during life and all that will be offered for their 
souls after death for the Souls in Purgatory. This is heroic, 

[166] 



ONCE UPON A TIME 


but what limits can be put to Divine Charity, which leads 
to self-immolation, to complete forgetfulness of self, thus to 
be more surely and intimately united to God. Do not forget 
to pray for one of our Fathers who died not long ago, and 
who was at one time in California—Father John Coffey, S. J.; 
and also for the brother of one of our scholastics who was 
killed in the War. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

In many of Adrian’s letters we come upon the expres¬ 
sion “both of us.” He makes use of this mode of speaking 
or writing because from early childhood he and his sister, 
Rose, were so inseparable, so united in play or in deeds of 
mischief that in making a recommendation to one, or in repri¬ 
manding one their mother always ended by saying, “I mean 
this for both of you.” As far as external proofs went only 
one might have been in fault; but she knew that they were 
so closely united that even if one had outwardly committed 
the misdeed, the other was in league, in silent sympathy. As 
they grew up the humor of this way of dealing with the sit¬ 
uation appealed to both of them, especially to Adrian. When¬ 
ever his mother told him to do anything jor go somewhere and 
he wanted Rose to help him or go with him, he would play¬ 
fully ask: “You mean that for ‘both of us,’ don’t you?” 

Up to the very time of his death we find Adrian using 
this expression, and it seemed to mean much to him as in¬ 
dicating his unchanging affection and interest in his little 
sister. “Cor unum et anima una” might well be applied 
to these two. When Rose and Adrian were youngsters, their 
mother placed them in a private kindergarten for small 
children more that she might have a little rest at home than 
in hope they would acquire any knowledge. All went well 
with Adrian until the morning recess, when there was an 

mn 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


uproar among the pupils, and the teacher found Adrian and 
another boy engaged in a fight. Adrian’s nose was bleeding 
but he was by no means conquered. Whenever the blows 
ceased for a moment, Rose would run between the combatants 
and wipe the blood from her brother’s face. The bystanders 
said it was not alone an amusing but also a touching sight as 
Rose was so very very small yet quite determined to help her 
brother. A few years later, when both of them were attending 
a parochial school, one of the nuns came to Rose and asked 
her why she refused to answer when questioned. Rose re¬ 
plied : “ I will not speak to you because you are too severe on 
my brother! ’ ’ 

When Adrian entered the Society this severance of the 
bond that existed between himself and Rose was a severe trial 
to him. At the suggestion of the Master of Novices, to whom 
the young man’s soul was completely unfolded, he did not 
write to Rose for some six months or a year; but when after 
that time the Master told him that he was certain there was 
nothing inordinate in his love for his little sister, Adrian 
resumed correspondence with Rose on the old intimate footing, 
and this continued until his death. There existed a holy 
emulation between them in spiritual things which became 
more pronounced after Rose donned the habit of a nun. 
Writing to her shortly after she had made up her mind to 
enter religion, Adrian says: 

“My joy will be complete when you have entered those 
‘courts’ whose beauty has been long attracting you. There 
close, very close to Jesus in His sanctuary, you will commence 
to sing unceasing Alleluias of thanksgiving, imitating the 
angelic choirs. Oh! how good, how good beyond measure 
God has been to us. How overflowing and tender the mercies 
of the Sacred Heart! ’ ’ 


[168] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


And after she was admitted as a postulant, Adrian 
seemed to feel that just as they had played hand in hand as 
children, and conversed together as students of God and the 
things of God, so hand in hand they would walk the narrow 
path, climb the heights of perfection, until at last would dawn 
the happy day of eternal union. 

“How often I recommended you to the Sacred Heart of 
our most loving Saviour! I am sure you do not forget to 
pray for me in return, especially when before Our Lord in 
the Blessed Sacrament and when He comes to you in Holy 
Communion. These are precious moments whose value we 
will never fully understand until we are forever united to 
our Beloved Master in Heaven. What happiness will then 
be ours! Which of us will be the first to reach the goal? We 
do not know; but let us strive with a holy emulation to reach 
that perfection to which God has called us, praying for one 
another and for all who need our prayers.” 

From Montreal, on October 15, 1916 he writes: 

Dear Sister:— 

A rather tardy letter this, but you will, as hitherto, over¬ 
look the long delay. The examination was a success, and I 
do not doubt that the prayers you offered and caused to be 
offered, were largely instrumental in obtaining the happy 
result. One of the questions asked had reference to the words 
of consecration that the priest pronounces over the sacred 
chalice, when forthwith the Most Precious Blood becomes 
present therein. Perhaps you were at that moment praying 
for me before the shrine of the Most Precious Blood. So 
now you must help me to render thanks to the Sacred Heart, 
Its Fountain-head, for so many favors conferred on me! 

Before the examination I studied too hard and brought 
on headaches, which still remain; so you will, I am sure, beg 
the Sacred Heart and her who is “Salus Infirmorum,” that 
if it be God’s best pleasure, they cease in order that I may 
be able to study well always for His greater honor and glory, 
and thus be a better instrument to apply the merits of the 

|169] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Most Precious Blood to souls,—“ Sanguis Tuus ad salvandas 
animas Deus Noster!” 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal. 

December 31, 1916. 

Dear Mother:— 

On the eve of the New Year I am sending you prayer¬ 
ful wishes that it may be for you one of very special graces 
and of the greatest possible spiritual progress. You will, I 
am sure, thus obtain for “both of us” an unmeasured share 
of heavenly favors, for in proportion to the degree of sanctity, 
is measured the power of prayer. 

Prayer on the other hand—as I saw expressed very well 
in the treatise of a spiritual writer—is just the best means to 
obtain sanctity; its action being like that of fire upon the 
rusty iron. If you give it time enough to act, if the iron 
remain constantly in the flames, all the rust will soon dis¬ 
appear, and the iron will so partake of the nature of the flame 
that with difficulty you will distinguish one from the other. 

This simile of the iron and the flame is used by St. 
Thomas to explain how we are made partakers of the Divine 
Nature by our share in the grace of God. Prayer is, accord¬ 
ing to the designs of His Providence, the sole ordinary way 
of obtaining that priceless grace, which Theologians call “the 
great gift,” namely, the grace of final perseverance. 

Do not forget to pray for Father Durocher, our teacher 
in Theology, of whom I told you in my last letter; he died 
very piously on the first of December. 

The little book you sent entitled, “My Changeless 
Friend,” pleased me much. Father Le Buffo is a great apostle 
of “intimate friendship and union with Christ, Our Lord.” 
That idea is the soul of the devotion to the Sacred Heart, and 
it is so little known and practiced in these times; for how 
many confine their devotion to a few exterior practices, and 
neglect to keep interiorly united to the Sacred Heart of Jesus 

[ 170 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


throughout their care-filled days! The idea of having unceas¬ 
ing recourse to Him as to a Friend ever intimately present, 
seldom, if ever, occurs to their mind. As Father Pardow 
so well expressed it: “To them the high winds are real, the 
waves rising mountain high are real, but Christ walking 
peacefully on Sorrow’s sea is only a phantom. True devo¬ 
tion to the Sacred Heart reverses all this: it makes Christ our 
real, living, breathing Friend.” 

And as the true friend shares the dispositions and tastes 
of his friend, so ought we—by the grace of God—to share 
the dispositions and desires of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, 
our changeless, eternal Friend. 

It seems to me a strong motive to rouse all to the prac¬ 
tice of this intimate friendship and union with the Sacred 
Heart is the thought that we are here in this life only to 
prepare for that “great meeting” with our Friend, which 
takes place at the moment of death. Oh, then, with what con¬ 
fidence will not the intimate friends of the Sacred Heart be 
filled; for they know their Friend too well to be disturbed 
by fear! In life they have kept close to Him, in death they 
do not dread to meet Him Whom they love so much. Oh if men 
only realized how important it is that they be not cold or 
distant with their sole true Friend during life, that they 
might with joy and eagerness approach to meet Him at their 
last supreme moment! Let us pray ever and ardently for 
the reign of this “intimate love and union with our Eternal 
Friend.” 


Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[ 171 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


“The Lord hath sworn, and he will not repent: Thou art a 
priest forever according to the order of Melchisedech.” 

Ps. Cix. 4. 

T HE TWO months preceding Adrian’s entrance into the 
Society were destined to be a time of severe trial to the 
ardent aspirant. At first he received encouragement and 
support from his confessor, Father Sardi, S. J., and from 
his sister. Some were of the opinion that he should stay 
longer in college; and adduced as a reason that the older 
boys were needed in order to give a good example to the 
younger ones. 

“I used to wait for the train from the City each even¬ 
ing,” writes his sister; “and then we would sit in the garden 
and talk it all over. As on former occasions he had me 
praying hard for the success of a play, a boxing contest or 
a ball game, so during these days his last injunction on 
leaving for St. Ignatius was for fervent prayer during his 
absence. For some reason or other this ordeal was drawn 
out for several days. It was possibly because of the absence 
of some of the fathers during vacation time. My patience 
and humility did not stand the test as his did, for one night 
when he came home from a rather discouraging interview 
I said that if the Jesuits did not want him, they could not 
have him at all — that I would not let him enter that Society, 
I shall never forget the expression on his face, — one of 
humble resignation; nor the lesson taught by his beautiful 
answer as he showed me my error, not by correcting my 

[ 172 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


pride but by the sincere humility with which he avowed that 
he was far from being worthy to be admitted into the Society 
of Jesus: and then he begged me to look upon it in this light 
and continue to pray that God might render him worthy of 
so great a grace.” 

This firm belief in the efficacy of prayer to obtain all 
heavenly favors was a salient characteristic of Adrian Mc¬ 
Cormick. He was continually beseeching those whom he 
knew well to remember himself and his intentions in their 
prayers, and especially in their visits to the Blessed Sacra¬ 
ment and in their Masses. No beggar ever pleaded for an alms 
on the street corner as Adrian besought prayers. As tertians, 
we generally had three or four Masses monthly to ourselves. 
Adrian knew this fact; and made it a habit to approach one 
or two of us each month, and ask if we could spare him a 
Mass, alleging as an excuse that he was behind in his inten¬ 
tions, that he needed a Mass for a very special cause, that a 
friend of his had died, et cetera, et cetera. 

Writing to his sister, he concludes: “Do not forget to 
pray for my intentions at midnight Mass. I will remember 
you and all your intentions. Let us extend our zeal to the 
whole world, pleading especially in union with the Sacred 
Heart and through Mary Immaculate, for the souls Our 
Saviour yearns to bring to Himself and save eternally: offer¬ 
ing our poor selves as victims for them in union with His 
Own Oblation, which is infinite in value and power! ’ ’ 

As the day of ordination approached Adrian more and 
more frequently pleaded for prayers and Masses. As might 
be expected from her great love for Adrian, Sister Mary of 
the Infant Jesus interested herself in procuring his heart’s 
wishes. She obtained nearly fifty Masses for her brother on 
the occasion of his ordination. Naturally this labor of love 


[ 173 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


touched him deeply: he told her that he would never be able 
to repay fully her goodness and generosity, but he would do 
his best to equalize the scales by praying for her in return 
and daily pleading for her at Holy Mass. He sent her word 
of the exact time of his ordination and first holy Mass that 
she might be united to him at the very moment by making 
allowance for the difference in time between Montreal and 
Portland. The Masses in the monastery chapel were said 
for him on those days, the sisters singing a hymn which 
Sister Mary had composed for his first Mass. It was called, 
The Sacerdotal Chalice. 


L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 

Dear Mother: 

Today, the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, I was mindful 
of you in my prayers to this great doctor of the Church, and 
patron of all Theologians. In the life of Balmes, the Spanish 
philosopher, I read that when he was a child his mother 
brought him each day to the altar of St. Thomas, and begged 
for him the gifts of sanctity and knowledge. 

These are the gifts, I trust, that you ask for me for the 
greater glory of God, so that I may make Him better known 
and loved, for “knowledge increases love.” The words are, 
I believe, from St. Augustine. Any other knowledge than 
this is but as sand or dust when compared with the purest 
gold or silver. 

This exalted knowledge was the ornament and crown of 
our great doctor, St. Thomas. He saw everything in God 
and through God, the eternal Truth, the Source of all science 
and being, whence every creature has issued, and to which 
every creature returns, as the waters drawn from the mighty 
ocean return in hastening river courses to its boundless 
depths. No wonder then that the works of St. Thomas 
comprehend all the branches of knowledge and in so excel¬ 
lent a degree. “Everything,” says Balmes, “is to be found 

[ 174 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


in Saint Thomas, philosophy, religion, politics: his writings 
are an inexhaustible mine.” 

Well now, I must close this rather brief letter. We are 
entering on the Holy Lenten Season during which I trust 
for many prayers. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
March 29,1917. 

Dear Mother, 

Have just received a letter from Sister Mary of the 
Infant Jesus in which she says that you have begun to think 
that I am that scholastic for whose restoration to health I 
have asked your prayers and hers. This is a mistake, for, 
thank God, my health remains the same as heretofore, that is 
to say, as good as when you saw me in Seattle, and even 
better. I did not give the name of the sick scholastic, be¬ 
cause I did not think it necessary, and perhaps he does not 
desire to be known. There has been a great improvement 
in his health since the time I asked your prayers and those 
of the fervent community at Portland; so I trust that you 
will continue to pray for him, and also for the scholastics, 
who with him are nearing the great day of Ordination, which 
will be this year, so I have heard, on the Sunday preceding 
the feast of St. Ignatius. The orders of Sub-deacon and 
Deacon will be conferred on us in the latter part of June, 
so that we will have about a month’s interval before being 
raised to that dignity, “quae superat laudes,” — which is 
above all praise. 

Though the time seems so near, yet I resign myself to 
God’s best pleasure, for He may not wish that I should reach, 
that day, and, as I said in my former letter, I would prefer to 
die rather than live to be a mediocre priest. 

I recommend to your prayers one of our scholastics, a 
member of the Philosophy Class, who died here in Montreal 
on the 21st of this month. It appears that his illness in its 

[ 175 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


acute stage was only of about a week’s duration. So you 
see we must be always ready, for even though we are in 
good health, an illness of a couple of days may bring death. 
This scholastic, however, was well prepared, received all the 
last sacraments, and died, practically whilst making his 
thanksgiving after receiving the Holy Viaticum. 

During Holy Week I trust that you will pray very 
specially for “both of us,” and for our intentions. The 
time is one of very special graces, and although at first 
thought it seems as though we could not and should not have 
any thought of ourselves and of our own, but be wholly 
taken up with compassion for our suffering Saviour; yet 
when our prayer for ourselves and ours is directed solely to 
His greater alleviation by imploring the grace of our spir¬ 
itual reformation, then indeed is our compassion not sterile 
but fruitful, and in accordance with His own Divine words: 
“Weep not for Me, but weep for yourselves and for your 
children! ’ ’ 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 2, 1917. 

Dear Sister, 

This letter will arrive in time, I trust, for the joyous 
Alleluia of Easter. May our Divine Lord grant you fullness 
of joy and “that peace which surpasseth all understanding,” 
as you contemplate Him gloriously risen on Easter day. With 
our eyes fixed on Him, we will rejoice in the thought that 
He is risen to die no more, that His joy and resplendent 
triumph is perpetual, and with lively faith and ardent love, 
adore Him as He hides His splendor beneath the sacramental 
veils, and confess His Divinity, His absolute dominion, de¬ 
siring that all men hear and unite in our hymn of praise: 
“Thou, 0 Christ, art the King of glory, Thou art the ever¬ 
lasting Son of the Father! ’ ’ 


[ 176 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Please remember in your prayers one of onr scholastics, 
a member of the philosophy course, who died on the 21st of 
March. The scholastic for whom the Novena was offered 
improved very much in health, and the improvement was 
remarked just about the close of the Novena. I gave him, 
the little relic of Mother Catherine Aurelia which you sent. 
So you see it was not myself for whom I asked the prayers 
for restoration to health. Indeed I am not sick, thank God, 
though my health might be much stronger. I am about the 
same as when you saw me in Portland. But, of course, 
prayers are very necessary for me now, as the time of ordina¬ 
tion is approaching, so I trust that you will continue to pray 
with ever-increasing fervor for me, and for those in the third- 
year class. The prayers you offered obtained so much that 
the sick member of our class may be able to be ordained with 
us on the last Sunday of the coming month of July. But you 
must keep them up. Do not forget to pray very much for 
peace in these troublous times, for the conclusion of this 
terrible war that seems to be drawing even the States into 
its vortex. 

Do you ever, when thinking of my intentions, beg of Our 
Lord for me the grace of being a martyr, and through the 
merits of His Most Precious Blood; and that after having 
laboured as His missionary in a foreign land, for example, 
in China ? If you have not done so I trust that you will do 
so in the future, for this is one of my intentions, which I 
ardently desire to see fulfilled, if such be His best pleasure. 
The foreign missions, they are the end of all my ambitions 
and desires. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 10, 1917. 

Dear Sister, 

Your very interesting letter, bearing Easter greetings, 
[177] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


arrived in good time, and probably my Easter letter to you 
reached Portland on the same date. 

Many thanks for the remembrance in the Easter No¬ 
vena, and especially during the hours of adoration on Holy 
Thursday. It seemed to me on that day in particular that 
prayers were being offered for me, and for my intentions. 
This is a grace for which I cannot thank the Sacred Heart 
enough, so I trust you will help me to render thanks for these 
many prayers and for the Masses which have been offered for 
me. Our thanksgiving — when united to that of the Sacred 
Heart of Jesus, the Divine Victim of the Altar — is rendered 
of infinite value. 

Please thank my aunt Rose for the Masses which she 
caused to be offered for me. It is no doubt in a special way 
owing to them that I have been, despite my offences and im¬ 
prudences, kept up in strength of soul and body. If it please 
God to have me ordained next July, I will repay her charity 
by saying holy Mass for her intentions. Also thank her for 
the money she sent to your community for the ordination 
presents. You will know what is best to do with that money. 

You asked prayers for one of the sisters there, Sister 
Mary Ignatius; and I obtained a memento for her in the 
Masses offered today (the 11th of April) by four of our 
Fathers. It is from the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass that we 
obtain the strength to suffer in union with the Divine Victim; 
and receiving Holy Communion we are transformed into His 
suffering likeness. 

In the sick and suffering members of a community 
Christ, Our Lord, is especially present. In them He suffers 
and is crucified anew, for they bear His sacred Person in a 
special way. And if we have the eyes of lively faith, we will 
recognize in them His crucified image. 

Please remember in your prayers those of our com¬ 
munity who are sick. There are three especially who are 
suffering much. Also include in the same prayers the mother 
of one of our California scholastics, who is given by the 
doctors only a month or two to live. This scholastic lost his 
father by death only a few weeks ago, and is now sick him- 

| 178 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


self, though I hope not dangerously. Do not think that l am 
one of those sick of whom I have just spoken, because if I 
was, I would tell you so frankly. Thanks be to God, my 
health is at present fairly good, owing no doubt in great 
measure to the prayers you have caused to be offered for me. 
Beg then of Our Lord for me, and for those who are in the 
ordination class, that we may all become soon saintly priests 
and apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and thus apply 
with full and lasting fruit the merits of His Most Precious 
Blood to souls. ‘ 1 Sanguis Christi ad salvandas animas! ’ ’ 
Your devoted brother in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L ’Immaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
May 3, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

Your letter arrived a few days ago. Observing the date 
on which it was written, April 23rd, I concluded that it was 
delayed on the way. I made an act of thanksgiving to God 
on learning that neither you nor Papa had been ill. No won¬ 
der that you have been affected by the declaration of war. 
The times are evil, and not a few think that the end of the 
world is drawing very near. The prophecy which is attributed 
to St. Malachy seems to be fulfilled more and more. He, it 
is said, foretold that during the reign of the present Pope, 
the enemies of the Church would lay waste her sanctuaries, 
and that many of her children would be torn from the em¬ 
brace of Religion. Here in Canada we are in a secure refuge, 
but in the United States they are threatening, through con¬ 
scription, to call even our novices and juniors to the front. 
Who would have dreamt that such a state of affairs would 
ever come to pass? 

Well, we must pray hard and unceasingly that the anger 
of God may be averted from us. The Pope, who has ever 
striven to avert this war, on hearing that another country, the 
United States, had been drawn into its awful vortex exclaimed: 
“Fiat Voluntas Tua! The designs of Providence are in- 

[179] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


scrutable: He can bring good out of evil Who made the world 
in the beginning to rise out of chaos.’’ 

Those who are to blame in bringing on this almost uni¬ 
versal war will be forced finally to exclaim: ‘‘There is a 
Divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will!” 

This is the beautiful month of the Blessed Virgin. That 
incomparable statue—I believe you have it still—is now be¬ 
fore my mind. I see the little lamp burning ever before it 
and the May flowers that cluster about it; and I also imagine 
that you and Papa, daily kneeling before that marvelous 
image of Mary Immaculate, offer special homage to her dur¬ 
ing this blessed month which is her own, and pray for “both 
of us,” not omitting to beg very special graces, and all that 
is “ad majorem Dei gloriam” for one who is nearing that 
great day when the sacerdotal power will, if it so please God, 
be conferred upon him. To labor as an apostle of the Sacred 
Heart, to apply the merits of the Precious Blood to souls, and, 
oh greatest favor! to shed my own blood as His martyr,— 
these are the desires that I have, by His grace, and that I 
trust you will present with me to her who is Regina Apostl- 
orum et Regina Martyrum! 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S J. 

P. S. 

Today, May 4th, is the feast of St. Monica. Prayed espe¬ 
cially for you that you might imitate her, never ceasing in 
fervent prayer that there be another saintly Monica and 
Augustine. 

A. I. M., S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
June 24, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

Today, the feast of St. John the Baptist, we were ordained 
sub-deacons and next Friday, the feast of Saint Peter and 
Saint Paul, we will be ordained deacons. There were four 
of us, one of our class not being strong enough as yet to en- 

[180] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


dure the long ceremony. He will be ordained in like manner, 
but privately, after some days. You will I trust pray that 
he recover full health and strength for the ordinations and 
for future work. 

Almost immediately after being ordained sub-deacon, I 
commenced to say the Divine Office, which we must now say 
every day. It is a duty full of consolation, for the Psalms of 
which the Office is chiefly composed are the inspired word of 
God and filled with the unction of the Holy Ghost. To borrow 
the words of St. Augustine: “That man might praise God in 
a fitting manner, God praised Himself; and because He 
deigned to praise Himself, man has thence discovered how 
he should praise Him.” 

And in another place the same Saint Augustine says, 
that, “he always heard the voice of Christ, Our Redeemer, 
in all the Psalms, at one time praising, at another time sigh¬ 
ing, or rejoicing in hope, or yearning in expectation.” 

The ordination to Priesthood will take place on the 29th 
of July, the last Sunday of that month, and hence our first 
Mass will be on the 30th of July, the eve of the feast of 
Saint Ignatius. Again recommending myself and companions 
most earnestly to your’s and Papa’s prayers. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


[181] 




THE SIXTH PART 


Last Years 

“Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth before the time of 
affliction come, and the years draw nigh of which thou shalt say: 
‘They please me not:’ 

“Before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars be dark¬ 
ened, and the clouds return after the rain: 

“When the keepers of the house shall tremble and the strong men 
shall stagger and the grinders shall be idle in a small number, and 
they that look through the holes shall be darkened: 

“And they shall shut the doors in the street when the grinder’s voice 
shall be low, and they shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all 
the daughters of music shall grow deaf. 

“And they shall fear high things and they shall be afraid in the way, 
the almond tree shall flourish, the locust shall be made fat, and the 
caper tree shall be destroyed: because man shall go into the house 
of his eternity, and the mourners shall go around about the street. 
Before the silver cord be broken, and the golden fillet shrink back, 
and the pitcher be crushed at the fountain, and the wheel be broken 
at the cistern, and the dust return into its earth from whence it was, 

and the spirit return to God Who gave it.” Eccles. xn. 1-7. 




CHAPTER I 


“I give thanks to my God always for you, for the grace of 


God that is given you in Christ Jesus.” Cor. i. 3. 


ESTERDAY was a holiday at the school, and all my 



little charges came over to the chapel for holy Mass and 
sermon. Though not a day of obligation, it is nevertheless 
one that is peculiarly Catholic and peculiarly American — 
Thanksgiving Day. It comes in the fall of the year when 
this old earth of ours, like a victorious general, rests in secure 
and peaceful repose surrounded by the spoils of war: or like 
a great high priestess, she holds her dearly-won fruits on her 
bosom, and offers them mutely to the Almighty before turn¬ 
ing them over to the common usages of mankind. 

I said in my sermon that it was given to us human be¬ 
ings to interpret these inarticulate prayers of earth, to trans¬ 
mit them on to God, to tell Him that it was only because of 
His goodness and bounty that the harvests were so plentiful, 
to say to Him: “Thine is the day, and thine is the night; 
Thou hast made the morning light and the sun. Thou hast 
made all the borders of the earth: the summer and the spring 
were formed by Thee!” 

I even went so far as to mention that the little tepee 
tents of corn, arranged like an army encampment, were each 
one separately asking us to thank God that they were out 
there in the field, that the ghoulish faces they noticed on the 
pumpkins was only a peculiar way the poor pumpkins had of 
smiling their thanks to their maker; that unless we hurried 


[185] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


with our prayers of thanksgiving the blithe songsters of the 
air would forestall us. 

Well, a few hours later, Ignatia, who had been present 
with the others in the morning, came over to pay me a visit. 
She has not been well of late; and looks quite emaciated from 
several recent fever spells. I also notice she has contracted 
a nervous racking cough that shakes her little frame as an 
earthquake makes a building shudder. Today her whole man¬ 
ner betokened excitement: she walked with quick nervous 
strides and, on closer range, I noticed that her eyes sparkled 
like little pools of amber wine that are touched with a ray of 
sunshine. “Come here Padre,’’ she began, beckoning me to 
join her on the lawn. Then: 

“Look, Padre!” And she pointed along Magnolia 
Avenue where the caretaker had gathered into a half-dozen 
piles the stray pieces of bark from the eucalyptus trees, and 
had touched a match to them. 

“Look Padre,” she began again. “Look! You forgot 
something this morning. ’ ’ 

“Forgot something?” I questioned. 

“Yes, you forgot to mention about these little fires. 
Why they are the incense pots that silently waft to heaven 
the earth’s silent prayers of thanksgiving. It is not always 
necessary to speak our praise; the Prince’s heroic example, his 
noble upright life,—these speak louder'than any words of the 
goodness and sweetness and holiness of the Creator.” 

“A very sweet thought, and even more sweetly ex¬ 
pressed, ’ ’ I returned. ‘ ‘ But then Ignatia you must remember 
that ‘out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh’; 
that one who is all on fire with love and gratitude to God 
must, perforce, enkindle the same flame in the hearts of those 
with whom he converses and lives. ’ ’ 


[186] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


And assuredly this was true of Adrian McCormick now 
more than ever before. His life from early childhood had 
been nothing else than a preparation, a prelude to the priest¬ 
hood; and now that God had granted him the desires of his 
heart, his gratitude knew no bounds. He would spend the 
remainder of his years in thanking God for the wonderful 
privilege that had been bestowed on him. Along with the 
consoling joys of ordination came the happy news that he 
had been granted permission to spend his life as a missionary 
in China; and out of a heart overflowing with gratitude he 
pens the following letter to his Provincial, the Reverend 
Richard A. Gleeson, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 

Reverend and dear Father Provincial: 

P. C. 

“Quid retribuam?” are the first words that come to my 
mind when I think of all the favors that have been so liber¬ 
ally showered upon me lately by the goodness of the Sacred 
Heart and Mary Immaculate. And at once those other words 
present themselves, “Calicem salutaris accipiam!” and 
through the merits of the Precious Blood and the infinite 
Sacrifice of the Mass will I render thanksgiving for so many 
graces conferred on one so unworthy. By the same means I 
strive daily to prove my gratitude towards you, who are the 
representative of Christ, Our Lord, and interpreter of His 
holy Will. 

Next Wednesday or Thursday I hope to say Mass at the 
shrine of dear Saint Joseph for the welfare of our California 
Province, and especially for you and your intentions. 

I had the happiness of again visiting Saint Anne’s beauti¬ 
ful sanctuary, and there prayed earnestly for those same in¬ 
tentions. Since one of our Fathers at Quebec fell sick un¬ 
expectedly I was called upon to take his place in our parish 
of “Notre Dame du Chemin” at Quebec. This meant the 
hearing of about 150 confessions, mostly in French, the say¬ 
ing of Mass for the people on two Sundays, and the giving 
of Holy Communion. It was a great happiness thus to be 

[187] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


able to help in some way and testify gratitude for all the 
charity shown me by our Fathers in this northern clime. 

Yesterday I was called out to our English College, 
“Loyola,” to hear confessions, say late Mass, and preach the 
sermon. They have bnly two priests there at present, and 
there is much work to do. Father Filion, who is now Rector 
there, may call for me several times during the summer to 
help in hearing confessions in the ‘ ‘ Loyola ’ ’ parish. 

I will write at once to Father Bonduelle and to the 
superior of the mission to thank them for receiving me. The 
former wrote me a very beautiful letter. 

Gratefully in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
Reverend and dear Father Bonduelle:— 

P. C. 

Your letter of May 9th gave me great joy. You can 
hardly believe how happy I am to foresee the day when, 
thanks to God, the most ardent desire of my heart will be 
realized. It is then true that I shall go to China as a mission¬ 
ary. I thank you sincerely Reverend Father, and please to 
aid me in thanking forever the Sacred Heart and our Im¬ 
maculate Mother. 

According to your desire, I shall have the happiness of 
commencing my Third Year on the first of September, at 
the Sacred Heart Novitiate, Los Gatos, California. 

Deign, Reverend Father, to continue for me the succor 
of your prayers, and the charity of a memento in your offer¬ 
ings of the Holy Sacrifice. 

Servus tuus in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

14 Rue Dauphine, Quebec, 
August 8, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

You will, I am sure, pardon my long delay in replying 
[188] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to your very edifying letters that arrived close to the “great 
day” of ordination, and with them such beautiful souvenirs 
and verses. My gratitude shall be shown by the memento 
I have daily for you in Holy Mass. 

It would be impossible for me to describe to you my 
sentiments on the “great day,” and on that day of even 
greater joy, the day of my first Mass. I had the happiness 
of saying it at the altar of Our Lady of Lourdes in our 
church, and it was a votive Mass in honor of the Blessed 
Virgin. The first words of the Introit were: “Salve Sancta 
Parens,” and in repeating them I prayed for my parents to 
her, who is for all time the highest model of parents. You 
may imagine what my emotion was, when nearing the mo¬ 
ment of Consecration, I reflected that after pronouncing one 
brief sentence, I would hold the King of Kings in my 
trembling hands. “Tremunt Potestates, ” the Powers, that 
exalted choir of angels, tremble and hide their faces before 
Him; and I, who am but dust and ashes, how is it that I am 
permitted to hold Him! “I have found Him, Whom my soul 
loveth, I held Him and will not let Him go! ” 

At the moment of the elevation of the Chalice, I prayed 
specially for Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus, and the other 
Sisters Adorers of the Precious Blood who are at Portland. 
At the Memento for the Dead, I prayed for those whom you 
mentioned in your letter, and was more deeply moved at that 
moment than at any other, I know not why. 

As you see by the heading of this letter, I am now in the 
ancient and deeply religious city of Quebec. By a special 
favor of Father Provincial, Father Levasseur and myself are 
allowed to visit the great shrine of Saint Anne, and, of course, 
we must pass through Quebec to reach it. I will have a very 
special memento for yourself, and Papa, and for Sister Mary 
of the Infant Jesus in my Mass there. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

[189] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
September 15, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

In your letter lately you asked me whether I had said 
Mass for Uncle Richard. As yet I have not said a Mass of 
first intention for him but I have said one of second inten¬ 
tion. In my first Mass I remembered all our relatives who 
are dead, especially Aunt Mary, Grandpapa and Uncle Frank. 

I visited the beautiful and deeply-loved shrine of Saint 
Anne on the 10th of August, the feast of St. Laurence, 
Martyr; and said Mass soon after arriving there at the Altar 
of the Sacred Heart, which is close to the great relic of Saint 
Anne. 

Of course I prayed specially for you, for Papa, for Sister 
Mary of the Infant Jesus, for Aunt Mattie, Aunt Rose and 
my cousins in the “Memento” of my Mass. 

At the first sight of that beautiful Church of Saint 
Anne, I was filled with joy and consolation, which increased 
when I entered its blessed Sanctuary that breathes lively faith 
and ardent devotion, that is adorned with countless precious 
offerings of grateful hearts,—the tokens of cures wrought in 
body and soul. One of our Fathers remarked to me that the 
spiritual cures at the shrine of Saint Anne are more striking 
and frequent than the physical ones. Many go there seeking 
a bodily cure, with an eager desire to be relieved of their 
sufferings, and receive instead a spiritual cure, returning 
home resigned to their cross, nay, more, rejoicing that they are 
still allowed to bear it in imitation of Christ, Our Lord and 
Saviour. 

Since my former letter I gave a retreat to the English- 
speaking division of the boys at the Reform School, and heard 
their confessions at its close. Some of the French-speaking 
boys came also to me for confession, and I was able to hear 
them. While I understand French well, yet I do not speak 
it perfectly, having enough facility for confessions but not 
sufficient at present to preach a sermon. 

[190] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


The giving of that retreat made me think of the work 
you are doing among the poor and afflicted, and reminded me 
to pray for you and your clients: your prayers, on the other 
hand, have helped much in giving me the opportunity to 
exercise a like apostolate. Asking a continuance of the same 
with redoubled fervor, 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
October 25, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

Your welcome letter that came from Boone has been long 
waiting an answer. I was very glad that your visit had such 
a good effect on the health of Aunt Mattie. She wrote me 
a very edifying letter just before my ordination, telling how 
glad she and my cousins were that God had called me into 
His vineyard to labor for His honor and glory, and that there 
are all too few indeed who are willing to give up everything 
to preach the gospel of Christ Crucified. After reading these 
words I am impelled to thank God for having given me an 
Aunt, who so thoroughly appreciates the value of the Divine 
vocation. “You have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you.” 
And those words of St. Paul: “We preach Christ crucified.” 

“The most Divine of all Divine works is to cooperate 
with God in the salvation of souls,” as Saint Dionysius says. 
How then shall I thank God for so great mercy and goodness 
shown towards me all unworthy as I am! You will help me 
to thank Him, while each day with trembling hands I lift 
heavenward “the lamb as white as snow, Who supplies for 
all, Who taketh away the sins of the world.” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

P. S. I trust that Papa is ever on “the firing line” of 
the League, of the Sodality, and that both of you are daily 
at the “Divine Banquet” receiving the Bread of Life. 

A. I. M., S. J. 


[191] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal. 

Sister St. Paul of the Cross:— 

Dear Sister: 

Though I have long delayed to write in expression of 
my gratitude for the precious offerings you sent me for the 
great day of ordination, yet I have not forgotten to recom¬ 
mend you and your esteemed community to Our Lord each 
clay in my Mass, and will continue to do so each day with the 
help of God, and with renewed fervor. 

This is the best way I have of testifying my gratitude to 
you and your fervent community. The Divine Victim will, 
by His Sacrifice of infinite value, supply for what is lacking 
on my part, since “His mercies are above all His works /’ 

The scholastic for whom I asked prayers, and who by 
the fervor of the prayers offered for him there in the sanctuary 
of the Precious Blood recovered sufficient strength to be or¬ 
dained priest and to daily offer holy Mass for more than two 
months, is very grateful to you and your community. He 
has attained his heart’s desires; but now the disease has at¬ 
tacked him more gravely than before. I recommend him again 
to your prayers and those of the community. Trusting that 
I have ever also a share in the same, 

Devotedly in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
December 9, 1917. 

Dear Mother:— 

Yesterday was a great day, especially here in the house 
consecrated to Mary Immaculate. It was also the occasion of 
the renewal of our Vows. After renewing mine, I said Mass 
at the Altar of Saint Joseph in our chapel of the Immaculate 
Conception. I had a special memento for you. After Mass 
I had the happiness of giving Holy Communion to one of our 
fourth-year Theologians, Father Lefebvre, who was also or¬ 
dained last July. I recommend him to your fervent prayers 

[192] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


for he will not live much longer and has already received Ex¬ 
treme Unction. He is fully resigned and contented at the 
thought of his approaching end: it is very edifying to hear 
him speak of this resignation. He is perhaps the most 
talented and profound of our Theologians here, and, had it 
been God’s Holy Will to give him a longer life, he would 
have contributed greatly to the advancement of deep and 
solid Theology. He had a special zeal in studying and ex¬ 
plaining the works of our great teacher and doctor in 
Theology, Saint Thomas. 

Not long ago I read some special incidents in the life of 
St. Thomas, and was filled with admiration for the profound 
humility, meekness and detachment, which he showed on the 
most trying occasions. Towards the close of his life—which 
was comparatively short—he ceased to write, and his dear 
friend and companion, Brother Reginald, asked him why he 
ceased a work which was so profitable to those who were 
thirsting for truth. He replied that God had in a vision, 
during the time of prayer, shown him (as it were unveiled) 
as much of His profound mysteries and of that infinite beauty 
and perfection which He has in Himself as it is possible for 
a man still in this mortal life to comprehend: and that in the 
light of that vision, all the Theological treatises he had writ¬ 
ten paled into insignificance, and appeared to him as but a 
little straw. From that time he could not compose more, and 
felt that God was soon to withdraw the veil in reality, and 
admit him to that Beatific Vision of which he had written 
so much and with such longing desire. Hear that yearning 
cry: 

“.Jesu Quern velatum nunc aspicio, 

Oro, fiat illud quod tarn sitio, 

Ut Te revelata cernens facie, 

Visu sim beatus Tuae Gloriae! Amen.” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 


\ 


[193] 


CHAPTER II 


*For as by the disobedience of one man, many were made 
sinners; so also by the obedience of one, many shall be 
made just. That as sin hath reigned to death, so also grace 
might reign by justice unto life everlasting through Jesus 


Christ, Our Lord.” 


Rom. v. 19, 21. 


0 LIFE of Adrian McCormick would be complete with- 



_L 1 out more than a passing emphasis on the interior spirit 
that actuated all his actions. A magnet, at times, will draw 
a piece of malleable iron to itself and so overcharge it with 
its own essence that all outside attraction ceases. Not only 
was this the case with Adrian, not only had the magnetism 
of Christ drawn him entirely from worldly thoughts and 
ambitions, but it had impregnated his entire being so that 
he too became a magnet drawing others to Christ. This was 
his great desire, his highest ambition, to go forth like David, 
and at the risk of personal safety, rout the enemies of God. 
He possessed a great deal of the royal Prophet’s humility and 
confidence. He knew that he had few merits, that he pos¬ 
sessed (as it were) only a little sling; but then too he al¬ 
ways remembered that he came in the name of God, that he 
was an emissary of a powerful Monarch, and the King’s 
Name was to him as shield and sword in one. Of course I 
do not mean by this that young McCormick was outwardly 
aggressive and militaristic — not at all: but I do assert that 
he was extremely aggressive in spirit. And the weapons he 
used were those quiet, hidden, silent ones that cannot 


[194] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


(when used correctly) be withstood — prayer and self-im¬ 
molation. 

In this work, as indeed in all his spiritual aspirations, he 
desired his sister Rose as an associate. And this was as it 
should be, for it was owing to the sister that Adrian had the 
grace and strength to be ordained a priest. Let Rose tell 
this in her own words: 

“I think I may safely say that it was my prayer and my 
desire from childhood that Adrian would be a priest. Even 
before I could realize anything of the sacredness of the 
priesthood, I still wished Adrian to be one because he told 
me that he wished it, and I always longed to have all his 
desires fulfilled. So the desire grew with both of us and in¬ 
creased in intensity when I was old enough to understand 
more of his sublime calling. When Adrian overworked at 
his studies at St. Ignatius, and became so ill that the doctors 
said he might die at any moment, my great sorrow was that 
he had not attained the end of our longing desires, that he 
was not a priest. I recall begging prayers for him that he 
might live to be ordained. This critical illness lasted some 
months, and in my distress I promised that, if God spared 
Adrian, I would become a religious and consecrate my life 
to His service in thanksgiving. I did not tell anyone of my 
offering: not even Adrian knew it. I think it was my one 
secret from him. He knew it only in heaven. I had reason 
later on to feel that my offering had been accepted, for 
Adrian recovered and entered the Society. I completed my 
studies; yet still remained in the world, hesitating to fulfill 
my promise. Soon we learned that Adrian was very ill at 
Los Gatos, and again three physicians said he could not live. 
Novenas were made and prayers said for his recovery. 
Again with great remorse of conscience I renewed my 

[ 195 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


promise; and again, as if by miracle, Adrian recovered. 
Even then I did not tell him my secret; it seemed to me too 
sacred for words. There was nothing left for me to do but 
fulfil my part of the contract; the Lord kept his, for Adrian 
became a priest on my birthday, — a precious birthday gift 
that I prized more than anything else in the world. 

“Adrian was delighted when I entered the Order of the 
Precious Blood. He wrote to me and said that he would 
always thank the Sacred Heart and Mary Immaculate for 
many favors but especially for having given his sister a 
vocation to such a fervent Order, one filled with the spirit 
of reparation and sacrifice in union with the Divine Victim of 
the Altar.’’ 

The apostolate Adrian exercised and desired his little 
sister to exercise along with him consisted firstly of frequent, 
fervent petitions to God not alone for their own salvation 
and sanctification but also for others. “We will pray,” he 
writes in one of his letters to his sister, — “we will pray for 
one another, and for all who need our poor prayers asking 
more for them than for ourselves. Let us extend our zeal to 
the whole world, pleading especially in union with the Sacred 
Heart and through Mary Immaculate.” And again: “Do 
not forget to pray for our Society, for our General, for our 
Provincial, for our Holy Father, the Pope.” 

Secondly it consisted in the offering of themselves as 
victims for the sins of the world in union with the offering 
of Christ. This idea he well brings out in a letter written 
to Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus to thank her for a poem 
she had sent him. The poem was called “The Monstrance”; 
and in it his sister had pictured Our Lady as a monstrance 
that shows us her Son, Jesus. 


[ 196 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


‘‘It is a beautiful comparison,” he writes; “the Blessed 
Mother revealing to us her Divine Child, Jesus, Who is our 
King. Through her we can easily come to Him, and our 
sight is strengthened to behold the splendors of His majesty, 
here by a lively faith, and afterwards in the unveiled vision 
of His heavenly court. Oh, how happy men would be, what 
peace and concord would exist between the nations of the 
earth, did one and all recognize Jesus as their King! Let us 
offer ourselves as victims in union with Him, the Victim, 
ever pleading, ever immolated for the spreading of His King¬ 
dom, for the universal reign of His Divine Heart. Adveniat 
Regnun tuum! Did you ever read the little book entitled 
‘Love Peace and Joy, or the month of the Sacred Heart 
according to Saint Gertrude?’ It is a little treasury making 
true devotion — the immolation of self — so attractive that 
no one can read it without becoming more impelled to gen¬ 
erosity and holy joy in God’s service. It is from the Holy 
Sacrifice of the Mass that we obtain the strength to suffer 
in union with the Divine Victim; and receiving Holy Com¬ 
munion we are transformed into His suffering likeness.” 

This spirit of immolation was no weak fancy of Adrian’s 
but a strong firm desire that had been in his heart so long 
that he considered it as part of himself. And so it is not 
strange to find him writing in this vein to his mother. 

Dear Mother, 

Your letter came in good time. I was glad to see that 
you remember so well how I desired even from early boy¬ 
hood to be a missionary in the “Field Afar,” after the ex¬ 
ample of Saint Francis Xavier and of Venerable Theophane 
Venard. Not long ago I heard — and the news came ulti¬ 
mately from one of our Fathers that has been on the Chinese 
Mission — that “the fields there are white for the harvest,” 

[197] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and that the laborers are few in comparison with the vast 
number of souls yearning to be “brought out of the darkness 
into the light of the Kingdom of God.” If you pray very 
much that my desire be fulfilled, the time will, I trust, be 
hastened when through the goodness of the Sacred Heart, 
and the intercession of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I will 
be one of those happy laborers in the “Field Afar,” and 
especially in that country towards which Saint Francis 
Xavier directed his dying gaze, longing for its conversion — 
the vast kingdom of China. 

Now however I have not time to dwell on this subject 
so dear to me, because I have a present duty very important, 
namely, to prepare for the final examination that crowns the 
course of Theology. It will take place on June 13th, the 
feast of St. Anthony of Padua. Pray to this great Saint, to 
whom I know you have special devotion, and especially to the 
Sacred Heart of Jesus “in Whom are all the treasures of 
wisdom and knowledge,” through the intercession of the 
Immaculate Heart of Mary, Seat of Wisdom that all be “ad 
majorem Dei gloriam!” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

L Tmmaculee-Conception, 
Rue Rachel, Montreal, 
April 3, 1918. 

Dear Mother: 

The joyful alleluia yet resounds as I write to you wish¬ 
ing and praying that Our Blessed Lord grant you a deep and 
lasting share in the graces of His glorious resurrection. 

Last month on the first free day I could find after the 
inspiration had come to my mind, I said Holy Mass, first in¬ 
tention, for you and Papa. Since it was the month of Saint 
Joseph, I trust that through his intercession, united to the 
infinite pleading of the Divine Victim, you both obtained 
many special helps and graces. I have just received the 
news that a true and grand Jesuit, and a former Superior of 
the California Mission, Father George De la Motte, died on 

[198] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


March 29th. To die on Good Friday, what a blessed privilege 
for a Jesuit whose whole life is but the reproduction of the 
traits and example of his Divine Leader and Model, the 
Eternal Son of God, Jesus Christ! 

It was Father De la Motte who first introduced me to 
Father Rene, and the latter told me of his esteem for Father 
De la Motte, and narrated to me examples of his heroic 
virtue, and one especially of his marvelous fortitude which I 
will never forget. You will, I am sure, pray very fervently 
for the repose of his soul, and also for two of our Brothers, 
who died recently in the West. 

Received from Aunt Mattie a very interesting and 
beautiful hook, the Life of Venerable Theophane Venard, 
Martyr. I do not remember whether I thanked her yet, so 
will write at once to tell her how much I appreciated the 
precious gift. To imitate this glorious martyr of our own 
times has long been my earnest desire, a desire given me by 
the mercy of God and despite my own unworthiness. You 
know that even as a hoy I longed to become a missionary on 
the foreign Missions, and a martyr. 

Well, that same desire has, thanks be to God, ever con¬ 
tinued, and I pray daily to dear Saint Francis Xavier and 
our Martyrs, especially Blessed John de Britto and Saints 
Paul, John and James of Japan, to obtain for me the realiza¬ 
tion of this my earnest desire. Will you also, as a true 
“mother of the Maccabees,” pray daily, especially during 
Holy Mass, to her who is the “Queen of Apostles and of 
Martyrs” for the same intention? I am sure you will, and 
Papa too. 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

14 rue Dauphine, Quebec, 
June 18, 1918. 

Dear Mother, 

It is a great pleasure for me to be again in the pious city 
of Quebec, but especially to have had the opportunity of 
making a pilgrimage to the shrine of good Saint Anne de 

[199] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Beaupre. Yon may be sure that I did not forget you nor 
Papa in the memento of my Mass, which I said there at the 
Altar of the Blessed Virgin, and in honor of the Immaculate 
Conception. Of course Sister Mary of the Infant Jesus had 
a very special memento also. 

The final examination took place last Thursday, the 
feast of Saint Anthony of Padua. That powerful Patron 
obtained that I was examined on the theses which I had 
more especially studied, and which are of the greatest im¬ 
portance in Theology and Philosophy. 

In a few days I hope to visit St. Hyacinthe, the place 
where the Order of the Precious Blood was founded; and to 
pray in the beautiful chapel there, near the tomb of the saintly 
Foundress. There again I will not forget you, and will ob¬ 
tain that the community pray for all of Us, and will thank 
the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Mary Immaculate for so many 
favors, especially for having given my sister a vocation to 
such a fervent Order that is filled with the spirit of repara¬ 
tion and sacrifice in union with the Divine Victim of the 
Altar. You will assist me in your daily prayers to thank God 
for all His graces, and may He grant to the united prayers of 
so many fervent religious, through the merits of the Precious 
Blood, that peace universal, so long desired, so ardently 
sought by all who share the sentiments of the Sacred Heart 
of Jesus. 

Since the Theological course is finished, I am helping now 
in the ministry and have occasion to hear confessions, preach 
sermons and sing High Mass. Next September, at Los Gatos, 
California, I will commence what we call “the Third Year 
of Probation,” where each Jesuit who has finished his Theol¬ 
ogy receives his final formation before being admitted to his 
last vows. 

Father Provincial wrote to me telling me that I will have 
the happiness of making the Third Year at the Novitiate of 
the Sacred Heart next September. I will let you know later 
what time I will start for the West, Recommending myself 

[200] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


most earnestly to your prayers and Papa’s, especially at the 
daily “Early Morning Paradise,” 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

This intense application of young McCormick to prayer 
and the things of the interior life often resulted in many un¬ 
usual situations. During tertianship at Los Gatos, when the 
time of walk came, it sometimes happened that Adrian was 
not at hand. His companion would walk over to his room in 
the dilapidated shack where he abode, and generally found 
him praying or saying his Office on his knees before his 
favorite picture of Our Lady. On being told that it was past 
the time for walk, Adrian became quite apologetic, he begged 
pardon of his companion for the delay he had caused, and 
on his return would invariably go to the Master of Tertians 
to ask permission to tell his fault to the community at supper 
time. 

On another occasion, shortly after his ordination, he was 
sent by his Rector to hear confessions one Saturday evening at 
the Sailor’s Club in Montreal. Of course he never thought to ask 
where the club was located, and it only occurred to him after 
he had gotten down town that he did not know exactly where 
he was bound for. On looking up and down the principal 
street he saw a sign in front of one of the buildings, “All 
Sailors Welcome Here.” This must be the place, he thought, 
and boldly opened the door. A long flight of stairs led up 
to a double door over which hung a sign “Sailor’s Club.” He 
began to mount the stairs, but when he reached about half 
way, the doors were opened violently, and a tipsy sailor was 
unceremoniously ejected. The jolly tar came reeling down 
the stairway and Father McCormick cautiously asked him if 

[201] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


this was the Sailor’s Club. The old salt, with a merry twinkle 
in his eye, replied: ‘'Yes, Father, it is a Sailor’s Club, but 
as they put me out, I don’t think they will admit you. This 
is the Protestant Sailor’s Club.” 

And so the two descended to terra firma. When outside, 
the sailor told Father McCormick that he was bound for the 
Catholic Club, and that if the Reverend Father had no ob¬ 
jections he would take him there. So the sailor took Father 
McCormick’s arm to steady himself, and this stalwart son of 
the sea, leaning upon the frail, boyish-looking priest as upon 
a protecting angel, must have presented a strange sight as 
they went down the street towards the water front. On the 
way Adrian learned that this happy-go-lucky son of Erin had 
not been to confession for twenty-seven years, and so he ex¬ 
horted him to straighten up his account before he would sail 
across the sea, and enter the dangerous submarine zone. On 
their arrival at the Club they were ushered in, and the old 
sailor, after partaking of some hot coffee, called for Father 
McCormick and told him that he wanted to make his peace 
with God and go to confession. Thus Divine Providence made 
use of Father McCormick’s little mistake to lead back to his 
Father’s home the long-lost prodigal. 

Apropos of the above-mentioned incident, it was quite 
extraordinary to notice the power Adrian had over sinners 
and the success that attained his efforts in reclaiming them. 
His earnestness, his courteous ways, his example and, above 
all else, his close union with God—these gave him a power 
that few could withstand. Nor was it only in spiritual mat¬ 
ters that he exercised this power; it manifested itself in the 
care and sympathy he gave to those suffering from physical 
ailments too. The poet sang years ago of being touched at 
heart and of having his affections aroused by the sufferings 

[202] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


of poor humans; yet not alone by a passing song have the 
saints assisted humanity, practically and systematically they 
have worked for the neighbor, and their task has been one 
of love because of their Faith, because of the Master’s words, 
‘ ‘ As long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you 
did it unto Me.” They gave of themselves physically, in¬ 
tellectually and, at times, spiritually, in as much as they 
have thrown into the breach the holiness of their life — the 
merits they have acquired—in attempting to win from heaven 
spiritual and physical blessings for the brethren. And on 
many occasions the heroic life they led has won; and God 
acceded to their requests even when obliged to work a miracle 
to do so. 

The writer has personal knowledge of many little favors 
and petitions granted through prayer to Father McCormick. 
These were bestowed in such a sweet courteous manner as 
to lead the recipient to renewed ardor in the path of holiness 
and perfection. Like the Little Flower he appears to be 
throwing very prodigally his roses and favors on earth. Be¬ 
sides these (I speak as a dutiful son of Holy Church), we 
have instances where his help was not refused in things of 
greater moment. Listen! It was mid-September and already 
there was frost among the hills outside of Montreal. The 
birches were yellow and gold against the dark foliage of spruce 
and hemlock and pine. It was autumn too in the heart of 
a fond mother and her soul was withered and sere because 
her little boy Joseph was hopelessly diseased. However, lest 
someone accuse me of romancing, let us hear the simple state¬ 
ment of the parent. 


[203] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


1975 Rachel Street, 
Montreal, July 4, 1921. 

Dear Reverend Father:— 

In my recent letter to you I promised to send you the 
details of the two remarkable cases in which Fr. Adrian Mc¬ 
Cormick was concerned while replacing me for a few days 
as chaplain of the Catholic Sailors’ Club here in Montreal. 

The first is the case of the child Foy, son of the caretaker 
of our club, 61 Common Street, Montreal. Here is the tes¬ 
timony of his mother: 

On the seventh of February, 1916, my little boy, Thomas 
Joseph Foy, aged eight months, fell from a chair and hurt 
himself. The next day I took him to the Montreal General 
Hospital, and when he was under the X-ray it was found that 
his right thigh was fractured. For six weeks the child was 
kept in the hospital in a corset of plaster which extended 
from the middle of his back down to his toes. He was grow¬ 
ing very fast at the time, and when the plaster was removed 
I found that, owing to the carelessness of the people in the 
hospital in not changing the plaster cast, his spine was very 
much out of shape. The nurses replied to my complaint that 
perhaps by massaging his back it would soon return to its 
normal state. But such a thing did not happen. Instead of 
getting better, the child’s back grew weaker; and when I 
brought him home he could no longer sit up straight. 

I then took him to a specialist who told me that the only 
way to cure him would be to put him in an iron frame for 
several months, for it was found that he had contracted 
rickets of the spine and legs. I took him to the Children’s 
Memorial Hospital for advice, and left him there. When I 
went to see him a few days later he was strapped in an iron 
frame from shoulders to ankles. He remained under this 
treatment for several weeks until at last I could not stand his 
crying any longer. I brought him home without hope of cure 
and gave up the idea of doing anything for him until he 
became stronger. 

I took him to the country for a couple of months—July 
to September, 1917. This stay aided his general health, but 

[204] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


did nothing for his spine, and I came back without hope. It 
was then I met Father McCormick who was temporarily re¬ 
placing Father Devine, our chaplain at the Sailors’ Club. 
Father McCormick blessed the child on the bare back, an oper¬ 
ation which caused him to shiver. The priest then prayed 
for him very often, so I kept speaking to him about my boy. 
On the Saturday when Father McCormick was about to make 
a pilgrimage to the shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupre, near 
Quebec, I asked him as a great favor not to forget my little 
boy while he w.as at the altar next day. And he said he would 
not forget. 

At the very moment of his Mass at the shrine, which he 
said about 9 :45, my little boy jumped down alone from his 
chair and called out to me, “Mamma, me down.” I imme¬ 
diately thought of Father McCormick’s promise. From that 
moment the child was practically cured. He jumped from 
the chair where I had him strapped and crawled to me, for 
he did not yet know how to walk. He kept calling, “Mamma, 
me down.” Three months later, he had no deformity on his 
back and could use his legs perfectly. There has been no 
recurrence of his ailment and he now goes regularly to school. 
Pie is old enough to realize all that Father McCormick did 
for him; and was very sorry to hear of his death. He speaks 
continually of him. 

( Signed ) 


Lila Foy. 


Here is the second case: 

Arthur Remillard, a boy nine years of age, living a few 
blocks west of the Catholic Sailors’ Club on Common Street, 
Montreal, was playing one day on a freight car which was 
standing on the track in front of his home. In jumping off 
the car he fell and sprained his back. For the moment noth¬ 
ing seemed to be the matter with him and he did not even 
mention the affair to his parents. It was only a few months 
later that his father remarked that the child’s back was bent 
and that he stooped when he walked. He then learned about 
the fall from the car. He called a physician, Dr. Baril, who 
examined the child and found that his spinal column was 
seriously affected and was assuming the form of the letter 


[205] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“S”. This physician predicted that unless precautions were 
taken at once the boy would be deformed and would become 
a permanent hunchback. He prescribed massaging and other 
treatments. If these did no good the boy would have to be 
put into a plaster cast for an indefinite period. When Mr. 
Remillard heard of the sudden cure of young Foy, he won¬ 
dered whether Father McCormick could not do something for 
his son also; and he brought him over to the Sailors’ Club. 
When Father McCormick made the sign of the Cross over 
the boy, the latter was cured at once. The father was pro¬ 
foundly moved at the extraordinary scene, and so convinced is 
he still of the sudden cure of his son that when two years 
later he described the blessing given by the young Jesuit, he 
could not restrain his tears. He also told me of the amaze¬ 
ment of the physician when the latter came to see the boy 
after the event. Young Remillard’s back is as straight as 
ever now and he romps and jumps as well as he ever did. An¬ 
other interesting detail of this case is that the lad was rather 
stupid and backward during his ailment. Father McCormick 
told the father that he would become bright and intelligent, 
a prediction that would seem to be coming true, for the little 
fellow came out first in his class last year. 

These are the details which I have succeeded in getting 
from the Foy and Remillard families. I know both the boys 
and their parents, and I know that ever since the cure of their 
children the}' hold Father McCormick’s name in benediction. 

With best wishes, 

Sincerely yours, 

(Signed) E. J. Devine, S. J. 

Another very interesting case of Adrian’s power with 
God happened in August, 1918, while he was on his way from 
Montreal to the tertianship in Los Gatos, California. He 
stopped over for a few days in Portland to visit his sister in 
the Monastery of the Precious Blood. While there, through 
the courtesy of the Franciscan Fathers, he held the office of 
chaplain. On Sunday, August 25th, he delivered an eloquent 

[206] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


sermon on the Precious Blood in the chapel, and on Tuesdaj 7 
following he blessed the crucifix in the garden and gave an 
impressive conference to the Sisters. On the last evening 
of his visit Father McCormick requested to see the community 
in the parlor, and when all were assembled proposed a spir¬ 
itual compact, promising on his part a daily memento at 
Mass in return for a constant remembrance in the prayers 
of the Sisters. During the conversation someone suggested 
that the Sisters of the Precious Blood establish a community 
in the mission field of China. Father’s face lighted with joy, 
and he said: “If I have any influence in China I will use it 
to establish there a Monastery of the Precious Blood.” 

Hitherto the mission of Tchely was hut a name to the 
Sisters of the Precious Blood, and their community was un¬ 
known to the religious authorities there; and yet, in the three 
short years since Father McCormick’s death, this institute 
has received a pressing invitation from his Lordship, Bishop 
Lecroart, the Vicar Apostolic, to found a monastery at 
Sienhsien, S. E. Tchely. And from the present tone of the 
letters between the Bishop and the Sisters a Monastery of the 
Precious Blood seems all but an accomplished fact in South¬ 
east Tchely. Thus does Adrian still work in heaven for the 
land of his dreams, the land of his desires,—the far-flung 
mission fields of China. 


CHAPTER III 


“A wise man hateth not the commandments and justices, 
and he shall not be dashed in pieces as a ship in a storm. 
A man of understanding is faithful to the law of God, and 


the law is faithful to him.” Eeclus. xxxm. 2, 3. 


0 A Jesuit the novitiate is in a certain sense like the 



I Catholic Church—you may love it or hate it but you can¬ 
not ignore it. The lessons you receive there color your whole 
after life,—they haunt you with joy when you live up to 
the principles inculcated there, they pursue you with remorse 
when you fall away from the high standard set for your con¬ 
duct. With most of us returning to Los Gatos after fifteen 
or sixteen years’ contact with the world, a certain sadness 
weighed down our hearts. It was de rigueur to tell all how 
happy we were to have ten months wherein to ponder over 
the faults and defects of the past; and yet—yet most of us 
were so certain of having fallen far short of our former 
ideals that we were by no means anxious to plumb just how 
deep the fall had been. Nevertheless all manfully faced the 
ordeal—for ordeal it certainly is—and after a month or two 
we no longer doubted that tertianship is, as we had often been 
told before, the happiest year in a Jesuit’s career. 

Adrian was a bright exception: introspection held no 
terrors for him, he loved it because it purified his soul more 
and more and thus brought him closer to his “Changeless 
Friend.’’ Writing to his sister at this time he says: “It is such 
a consolation to be again among the eternal hills and the vine¬ 
yards of Los Gatos. To me it is pathetic that we are obliged to 


[208] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


leave this House of Bread, but then one must leave God for 
God.” From a constant perusal of Father Lallemont’s ad¬ 
mirable little book “The Spiritual Doctrine” he had thor¬ 
oughly mastered the two great essentials for an apostolic life, 
— zeal for souls, and love of prayer and the interior spirit. 
With him these were interchangeable. Without the least diffi¬ 
culty or embarrassment he went from his exercises of devo¬ 
tion to active work for the neighbor and never experienced a 
diminution in either, and this because—because he had ac¬ 
quired a real solid love for the interior things, and this even 
before he entered the Society. 

From his biographers we have it on solid objective evi¬ 
dence that St. Aloysius was much given to play, and that 
play and ecstasy went hand in hand. And in the life of 
Adrian McCormick we find that along with the humdrum 
of student life there is always much in the foreground a high 
esteem of prayer and an indomitable resolution to keep him¬ 
self stainless from the dust and slag of the world. While 
attending Saint Ignatius College in San Francisco he liked 
to have his sister Rose wait for him at the Academy after 
class until he called for her that they might walk home to¬ 
gether and have an intimate chat on the way. On a few 
occasions Adrian became so interested in a game of handball 
that he forgot entirely about the passing moments, and kept 
his little sister waiting too long at the Academy. She would 
complain and scold, and at times became quite disagreeable, 
bringing up the subject of his tardiness time over time. 
Adrian never answered back: he simply asked her pardon and 
then endeavored to be as cheerful and happy as if nothing 
had happened to mar the cloudless serenity of his soul. On 
one of these homeward walks his sister noticed a picture of 
a battleship on one of the sign boards and turned to look at it. 

[209] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“I wouldn’t look at the sign boards,” Adrian remarked, “for 
the Fathers at the College warned us against looking curiously 
at such objects.” 

His little sister was still smarting under his neglect in 
coming late to bring her home and so she answered: “I will 
look just as long as I like, the Jesuits may be guiding you but 
they are not my directors. ’ ’ 

The incident is quite typical of manly sanctity. Adrian 
might as a boy become so engrossed in play as to become 
oblivious of an appointment, but even at that period he was 
nevertheless a watchful young virgin and kept his lamps 
trimmed in daily expectation of the coming of the Bride¬ 
groom. In those days he allowed no outside influence to dim 
the lustre of his purity of heart and the closeness of his union 
with God. This prudence and watchfulness increased with 
the years and accounts mainly for the high degree of sanctity 
which he acquired during his course of training in the order. 
Naturally the tertianship appealed strongly to him: it was a 
wonderful opportunity to come even closer than heretofore 
to Christ. And so we find him on the first of September, 
1918, happily ensconced at the Novitiate of the Sacred Heart, 
Los Gatos. 

A novitiate is often called by spiritual writers Bethlehem 
or the House of Bread. It was indeed so to Adrian for there 
was no room for him in the inn—in the main building, and, 
as we mentioned before, he was assigned to quarters in a 
temporary house formerly given over to the workmen. 

Here, like the hermits of old, he quietly and silently went 
about the affairs of his soul. Governments might change, 
kingdoms rise and fall, but to Adrian these things were of 
little moment; in his mind there was one interest that tow¬ 
ered above all others and in comparison to which all else was 

[210] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


nothing: he had a soul to save. The rest was vanity and 
affliction of spirit. Writing to his mother he says: “I often 
think of those words you once wrote to me, ‘ Seek ye first the 
Kingdom of God and its justice and all things else will be 
added unto you!’ Pray then with redoubled fervor during 
these months that I may above all make the progress I should 
in the ‘Science of the Saints’ for then success in all that pre¬ 
pares me for my holy vocation will follow as surely as upon 
the departing tread of night follows the glad footstep of the 
day.” 

The first months of tertianship are the most important. 
They are given over almost entirely to the acquiring of a 
deeper spirit of prayer and a closer union with Christ. For 
this end all tertians make the long retreat: they spend a 
month pondering over the mysteries of the passion and death 
of Christ according to the exercises of St. Ignatius. Un¬ 
fortunately we have none of the resolutions Adrian wrote 
down during this time; in all probability he himself destroyed 
them. Tie was very exact in these matters. After his death 
the particular examen book he used was found marked up to 
the very morning he was taken to the infirmary. But though 
we have not his resolutions, we have the spirit of the exercises 
in the following lines to his mother. Speaking of the recent 
death of a grand old Jesuit, he concludes: “I trust that you 
daily beg of God for me the great grace of a similar life and 
death in the Society of Jesus, a life of generous toil and 
heroic virtue in winning souls to Him, a life and death with 
Him upon the Cross. This same grace of living and dying 
upon the Cross you ask, I am sure, each day for Sister Mary 
of the Infant Jesus, who is so especially consecrated to the 
passion of our Lord in the adoration of His Precious Blood. 

Unfortunately too we have few letters during this time 

[211] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


from Adrian to his mother and sister. The reason is that he 
desired, as the Institute suggests, to withdraw as much as 
possible from external distractions, and for this cause he wrote 
very little during tertianship even to his parents and to his 
beloved sister. He was always on his guard too lest he be¬ 
come attached inordinately to his sister or she to him. On 
his way to Los Gatos, while acting as chaplain in the mon¬ 
astery where his sister resided, he gave quite an example in 
this respect. As the sisters cannot go outside the cloister 
into the exterior chapel, they used to ring a little bell to call 
him to the grill in the parlor when they were free to speak 
to him. Adrian thought that his little sister rang the bell en¬ 
tirely too often; and on a few occasions he did not answer it. 
However, on pondering the matter over, he decided that he 
had committed a fault in not responding to the call since 
it was to him as the voice of God; and so he apologized to 
the Sister Superior, saying: “ I heard my sister ring that bell 
and I did not come. I did wrong. Next time I shall answer 
promptly.’’ This was said with great humility and contri¬ 
tion; though, as a matter of fact, the sisters were somewhat 
in fault too since they had been importunate and had tired 
him out with requests for preaching, confession and direction. 
Notwithstanding this open avowal of Adrian’s, he took the 
first opportunity to reprove little Rose. “Sister,” he said, 
“you are too eager to see me. You should seek first the King¬ 
dom of God.” The Mother Superior was present on this 
occasion, and answered: “Father, she is seeking first the 
Kingdom of God in coming to see you. Your influence will 
increase rather than diminish her desire for heavenly things. ’ ’ 
This same Superior narrates how she remonstrated with 
Adrian for spending nearly all of his time in the chapel and 
told him he would wear himself out by praying so much. 

[212] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


Adrian was greatly surprised at this, and replied: “Mother, 
my prayers do not tire me; they rest me.” 

And unusual to say, the statement was perfectly true. 
When Adrian wanted a relaxation from meditation or from 
any other duties incumbent on tertians, he took it by walk¬ 
ing up and down in front of the novitiate saying his Rosary 
or reading a pious book. 

In the fall of 1918 the dreaded influenza epidemic dev¬ 
astated the country. It entered the portals of the novitiate 
a few days before Christmas, and took its toll of two young 
Jesuits before its ravages could be subdued. Most of the 
tertians went out to the neighboring cities and towns to sup¬ 
ply; and many of them—Father McCormick included—did 
not know until their return a day or two later that the “ flu ’ ’ 
was in our midst. 

Adrian was sent to Half-Moon Bay. We have a letter 
or rather a note to his mother from this place. 

Catholic Church: Nuestra Senora del Pilar, 

Half-Moon Bay, 
California. 

Dear Mother:— 

The missionary spirit is now being exercised by our Ter¬ 
tian Fathers, and it is on an errand of zeal that I have been 
sent here for Christmas Day, to say three Masses, preach three 
sermons and hear confessions. I will return to Los Gatos 
about 2 P. M. tomorrow. 

I received your nice Christmas gifts, especially the book 
entitled, “The Martyr of Futuna.” I have not had time to 
read it yet. Do you wish me to keep it? Since your name 
was on it I doubted whether this was your wish or not. Please 
do not forget to pray very earnestly for the people among 
whom I am now working that what I shall have done for 
them may, by God’s help, bear lasting fruit to the greater 
glory of His Holy Name. 

Well, now, I must close my letter as it is growing late 
[213] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and spiritual duties claim my entire attention. I will write 
you a much longer letter when I have more time. Recommend¬ 
ing myself and all the community at the novitiate to the fer¬ 
vent prayers of “both of you,” and wishing you both the 
choicest graces of Our Infant King, 

Your devoted son in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

Adrian was not back in Los Gatos a week before he too 
succumbed to the prevailing epidemic. I shall always re¬ 
member his words to me when we told him that he had a 
fever and should go to bed. “Please to anoint me, Father,” 
he said, “just as soon as in your judgment you deem me sick 
enough to receive the Last Sacraments. Do not wait until I 
am close to death.” We conquered the fever on this occa¬ 
sion, and after two or three days spent in convalescing he 
was himself once again. It was then a difficult task to 
restrain him from nursing the sick or assisting those on the 
road to recovery. He was like a young thoroughbred chafing 
for an open lane; or like a fast motor boat you sometimes see 
dancing by dilapidated wharves, straining to go. And he 
pleaded his cause admirably: it was wrong to fancy that he 
was delicate, he was much stronger than others who were 
working hard with the sick, and then, too, he loved nursing 
and it was his place to be with his brothers in distress. But 
we could not risk the responsibility of a relapse, and denied 
him the desires of his heart. He went away quite wilted and 
disappointed, — he went away to the chapel, a lonely little 
figure in black to talk over things with the Master. And 
we, — well we felt like the meanest cad on earth who denies 
a child a toothsome stick of candy. 

Though we have only a few of Adrian’s letters to his 
parents and sister during the tertianship, we have his letters 


[214] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


to the Master of Tertians, Father Joseph M. Piet, S. J. 
Father Piet in forwarding these to me says: 

“I suppose you realize he had the simplicity and open¬ 
heartedness of a novice to the last day. He was most pleas¬ 
ing to the Heart of Our Dear Lord, and had made a vow 
not to break any of our holy rules deliberately. His fond 
desire was to go to China and devote his life to the conver¬ 
sion of the heathen. The Lord accepted his sacrifice without 
the manifold trials which beset a missionary’s life.” 

Just before the tertians went out on their missions dur¬ 
ing Lent, Adrian pens a line or two to his sister to beg her 
prayers and those of the community for the success of their 
work. 


Sacred Heart Novitiate, 
Los Gatos, California, 
February 11,1919. 

Dear Sister, 

Today, the beautiful feast day of Our Lady of Lourdes, 
you and your intentions were not forgotten in my Mass, and 
before the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in the novitiate 
garden. Last Sunday I said late Mass and preached the ser¬ 
mon at the Church of All Saints, Hayward, a country town 
half way between here and Oakland. The pastor there told 
me that he had visited Lourdes, and that he had spoken to 
two brothers of the saintly Bernadette, and that they told 
him how they themselves, going one day in search of their 
pious sister were eye-witnesses of the vision of Our Blessed 
Mother, Mary Immaculate. 

Please do not forget to pray each day very fervently to 
Our Lady of Lourdes for my intentions, especially those 
which regard the apostolic life which, if it please God, I and 
my companions are soon to exercise in a very special way. 
With such a good, such a loving and powerful Mother, why 

[215] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


should we fear or be ungenerous? We should cling to her as 
a trusting child. Mater Dei Mater mei! 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

As a student Adrian had given considerable time to elocu¬ 
tion. He took prominent parts in college dramatics and 
knew the plays of Shakespeare thoroughly. Later on as a 
scholastic he was frequently called upon to recite before the 
community on various festive occasions. He invariably ac¬ 
quitted himself with credit, and charmed his audience alike 
by his talent as by his modesty and humility. This training 
stood him in good stead in his preaching as a priest. In the 
manner of speaking he was not an orator as we generally 
estimate one. Here there was no deep-voiced appeal, no 
reliance on a prominent personality, no use of vain artifices 
and unnatural mannerisms. He abased himself completely 
in the pulpit; he even gave the impression that he was timid 
and not at all sure of himself or of what he had to say. 
Adrian McCormick was nothing; Christ was everything. 
Like the Baptist he was but a voice crying in the wilderness, 
and like him too, he considered himself unworthy to loose the 
lachet of the Master’s shoes. And yet he was an orator in 
the true sense of being able to sway the hearts of men. He 
was in close touch with the Divine powerhouse and could 
turn on men at will the light of God’s grace. On many occa¬ 
sions he would quite frankly beg his hearers to join with him 
in asking God to bless the words he was about to utter. 
Here is an introduction to a sermon he preached on the 
Precious Blood: 

“My dear Brethren. Before beginning to speak on the 
cherished subject of to-day’s sermon, I entreat you to raise 
your hearts with me to that Divine Master, the hidden God 

[216] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and Saviour Who is here present on His altar throne, ‘for 
great is He that is in the midst of you, the Holy One of 
Israel,’ and to beg of His Divine Heart, Fountain of all grace, 
that this sermon and the fruits of it be all to His greater 
honor and glory. For the words of the preacher sound ex¬ 
teriorly but it is God alone, the hidden operation of the Holy 
Spirit, that conquers and moves efficaciously the mind and 
heart. 0 come then, Thou sweet Guest of the soul! Come 
Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of the faithful and enkindle in 
them the fire of Thy love.” 

When he spoke these words, he turned towards the 
center of the altar, his gesture indicated the tabernacle and 
his whole attitude manifested his deep reverence and lively 
faith. Unconsciously his hearers followed his glances, and 
watched him as his eyes dwelt lovingly on the earthly Home 
of his Friend. One person who heard this introduction said 
that it was the most eloquent sermon ever preached on the 
Real Presence. 

The year Adrian was sent to tertianship the Father 
Instructor thought it would be more to the greater glory of 
God if the tertians confined their missionary efforts during 
Lent to the small towns and villages and left to others the 
task of giving missions in the large towns and cities. 
Adrian, like all willing workers, was given a very heavy 
schedule. His first mission was at St. Paul’s Church, San 
Pablo. The pastor tells many edifying incidents of his stay 
there, of his deep love of prayer and recollection, of his un¬ 
tiring zeal in the confessional and in the pulpit, of his con¬ 
stant mortification — he very seldom slept on a bed and must 
have taken the little repose he considered necessary on the 
floor, in a word, he narrates a thousand and one little inci- 

[217] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


dents that single out the saint from his fellows. He writes 
to the Master of Tertians: 


Catholic Rectory, 
San Pablo, 
March 13, 1919. 

Dear Father Instructor, 

Pax Christi 

I received your very welcome letter this morning. Many 
thanks also for the answers to my questions. There was one 
matter of which you did not speak, namely, the mission at 
Rodeo. Father Porta says that he must have a week’s mission 
there, and hopes that you will send someone to take my place 
on the 19th, or rather on the morning of the 20th. The reasons 
are those I gave at his request in my last letter to you. 

The mission is flourishing at St. Joseph’s Church, Pinole. 
The children of the Parish have set a most edifying example 
of diligence in attending the exercises and of zeal in bringing 
as many as possible, their parents especially to attendance at 
the mission. 

“Ex ore infantium perfecisti laudem!” It was the cus¬ 
tom of St. Francis Xavier to convert the grown-up pagans 
by means of their innocent children, and I trust that — Deo 
juvante — all our missionaries follow his shining example. 

In union with your prayers, 

Devotedly in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick, S. J. 

The following is an excerpt from a letter to his sister: 

First of all I must thank you for the prayers which you 
offered and caused to be offered on the great feast of the 
Blessed Virgin for me and for my intention. The favor was 
obtained, thanks to the all-powerful intercession of Her Whom 
the Doctors of the Church have honored with the title 
“Omnipotens Supplex.” During this holy season of Lent, 
consecrated to the sacred Passion of Our Lord, you will I 

[218] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


trust continue to recommend me and my intentions most 
fervently to His Sacred Heart, agonizing and pouring forth 
the last drops of His Precious Blood for our eternal salvation 
and for our greater and entire sanctification upon the Cross. 
Here is a short prayer—often used by Father Ginhac S. J.— 
pleading for the closest union with Jesus in His Passion. 

“0 Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, pierced and opened by 
love for me, grant me to go entirely out of self into Thee, that 
living and dying with Thee upon the Cross, I may the more 
love Thee, the more closely imitate Thee.” 

I heard one of our spiritual directors say that in that 
short prayer, as in a nut shell, is contained the whole science 
of the spiritual life. Let us then unceasingly ask and beg this 
great grace from the Sacred Heart of Jesus and through the 
intercession of Mary Immaculate, His Beloved Mother, for one 
another, for our companions in religion. 

Your devoted brother in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick S. J. 

After completing the mission at San Pablo, Adrian was 
sent to open one at Mendocino; and from here he traveled to 
Ukiah, and gave a mission in that place for the Franciscan 
Capuchin Fathers. The strain of speaking three and four 
times daily for four weeks was beginning to tell on Father 
McCormick’s frail health. We have a slight hint of this in one 
of his letters to the Father Instructor written at this time. 

Catholic Rectory, 
Ukiah, California, 
March 31, 1919. 

Dear Father Instructor, 

P. X. 

Thanks be to the Sacred Heart, and to the Blessed Virgin, 
Refuge of Sinners, for the many brought to their duties at St. 
Anthony’s Church, Mendocino. The Saint, who has so great a 
reputation for finding things, must also have been pleading 

[219] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


powerfully that the lost sheep of Mendocino be found, and 
carried home on the shoulders of the Divine Shepherd. 

From what I have heard from pastors of souls since com¬ 
mencing this work of the missions, there are very many people 
who come to church only two or three times a year, and others 
not a few, who enter its door only three times in all, namely 
for Baptism, for Marriage, and when they are carried a life¬ 
less load for the funeral rites. Father Gregory told me that 
the results far exceeded his expectations, and he used to say, 
after some long-wandering sheep had come to the mission and 
to Confession: “ It is a miracle! ’’ * 

In the sermons of the missions I have been striking at that 
indifference and deadly torpor which keeps men and women 
from coming to Mass on Sunday and from the Sacraments. 
So many will not go to Confession. One man who claimed to 
be a Catholic told me he did not believe in Confession and 
thought that he might be saved without it. But before an¬ 
swering him I said interiorly the short, one word—“Memo- 
rare” to the Blessed Virgin and the invocation to Saint 
Anthony, Patron of the Church there. Then I explained to 
him the divine institution of the Sacrament and its necessity. 
Thanks be to God and to His Blessed Mother the arguments 
convinced him. He went to Confession and Communion. 
More than ever I see how powerfully the grace of God draws 
and converts the hearts of men. ‘ ‘ Cor hominis in manu Dei, 
quocumque voluerit flectet illud. ’’ But man must pray, must 
ask of God this conversion of heart, for He says, “Ask and 
you shall receive!” 

This is the reason why in the missions I have continually 
spoken on the necessity of prayer, especially for those who 
are in the state of sin, that they cry out like the great penitent 
David to obtain again the grace of God. ‘ ‘ Out of the depths 
I have cried to Thee, 0 Lord.” Also of the necessity of 
prayer in time of temptation. 

But perhaps I have already far exceeded the limits of 

[ 220 ] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


moderation in the length of this letter, so I beg pardon and 
will close. 

Devotedly in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick S. J. 

Catholic Church, 
Ukiah, California, 
March 31, 1919. 

Dear Father Instructor, 

P. X. 

Enclosed you will find a note from Father Sebastian 
which I forgot to put in my former letter that went this after¬ 
noon. Please do not forget to answer my questions proposed 
in former letters. I picked up a cold, at Mendocino I believe; 
too much going to bed after twelve o’clock. But now—Deo 
gratias—I have learned by experience to be more prudent and 
to snatch what repose is necessary whenever occasion permits 
and Providence gives. God is so good; and this—well, “Ca, 
c’est la vie missionaire!” “Comme on vit heureux!’’ 

The cold does not interfere with my speaking to any 
noticeable extent,—“Parvum pro nihilo reputatur.” 

Recommending myself and the missions and the people 
to your Holy Sacrifices and prayers, 

Devotedly in the Sacred Heart, 
Adrian I. McCormick S. J. 

Immediately after the Lenten season was over, Adrian 
hastened back to the Novitiate. Some few complained that 
they ought to have a day or two to recuperate before return¬ 
ing, but never a word from Father McCormick. In fact this 
characteristic of always upholding superiors and never crit¬ 
icising their commands was well known to his fellow tertians. 
It was impossible to trap him into saying an adverse word 
against those in command. They were representatives of God, 
and as such were covered by a divine mantle that precluded 

[221] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


them from being brought under a microscope, examined and 
dissected like other individuals. 

He had another reason for returning at once to Los 
Gatos; in former years while studying at Montreal he was the 
sacristan at the Theologians’ villa. He spent so much time 
before the Blessed Sacrament in those days that Father Fon¬ 
taine, the Superior, was obliged to give him an order to stay 
out of the chapel. But at the Sacred Heart Novitiate no such 
order existed, and he desired to return there at once and place 
his labors and his successes at the feet of his hidden Lord. 
He writes in this strain to his sister,—the last letter he wrote 
to her. In it more than once he inserts the proviso “if it be 
God’s Holy Will,” as if he had some thought that his hopes 
would not be realized. 


Sacred Heart Novitiate, 
Los Gatos, California, 
May 12, 1919. 

Dear Sister, 

Many thanks for the prayers and mortifications you 
offered and caused to be offered for the Lenten missions! 
God was pleased to bless the labors of our missionaries with 
abundant fruit. Our Blessed Lord, in return for your gener¬ 
osity, will grant you—and has no doubt already granted you— 
many special graces. Though the work of the missions was 
full of consolation, yet the return to Alma Mater, to the 
Novitiate was even more so; when the reapers brought their 
heavenly laden sheaves to place them at the feet of Our Divine 
Lord, conquests of His Sacred Heart, and of the all-powerful 
intercession of His Blessed Mother, Mary, Refuge of Sinners. 

Please do not forget to pray very earnestly for my inten¬ 
tions during this month, the month of the Blessed Mother. 
And in particular for another mission which I will give, if it 
please God, at Fort Bragg, California, a lumber town some¬ 
what north of Ukiah. This mission is marked to commence 

[222] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


next Sunday, May 18th, and to close the following Sunday 
morning, May 25th. After it I will, please God, return imme¬ 
diately to the Novitiate to commence to make my annual 
retreat; and after it, if it is God’s will, I will work in the 
ministry for some weeks at San Francisco, giving the Sacra¬ 
ments to the sick and dying in the City and County Hospital, 
and trying to convert the sinners and non-Catholics, with the 
help of God, to be also begged by your fervent prayers and 
those of your community. Then tertianship will soon come 
to a close, so beg Our Divine Lord to perfect in me the work 
of formation according to the mind of our holy Father Saint 
Ignatius, that I be, each moment of my life and forever, a 
close companion of Jesus, by the mercy of His Divine Heart! 

Your devoted brother in the Same Sacred Heart, 

Adrian I. McCormick S. J. 


[223] 


CHAPTER IV 


“It shall go well with him who f eareth the Lord: in the days 
of his end he shall be blessed.” Ecclus. i. 19. 

O N THE western horizon at sunset the trees stand out 
clear and distinct: in the sunset of life, in the days 
preceding Adrian’s last sickness and death his nobility of 
character, his strict attention to the minutiae of religious 
life, his zeal for souls — these become more clearly defined 
as the trial hour draws near. 

He had always a deep sense of the responsibility con¬ 
nected with the priesthood; and this explains to a great ex¬ 
tent his peculiar attachment to the Sisters of the Precious 
Blood. A true contemplative himself, he realized full well 
that the only way he could possibly fulfil the onerous 
obligations incumbent upon him as a priest was by prayer, 
and for this same reason he desired to be closely united and 
associated with those who had given themselves to a life of 
interior recollection and contemplation. In the Constitu¬ 
tion of the Adorers of the Precious Blood recurs time over 
time the slogan: “They shall pray for the priest that he may 
be holy!” Adrian knew of this and scarcely a letter passed 
to his little sister without a reminder of her duty to pray 
for others and especially for those invested like Aaron with 
the sacerdotal power. When his parents gave a life-size 
figure of the Crucified One to the Monastery of the Precious 
Blood in Portland, superiors waited until Adrian was passing 
through the city on his way to Los Gatos before having it 
blessed. He was keenly delighted when told of the pleasant 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


task in store for him; and on the day he blessed it, seeing 
the inscription below the corpus “They shall pray for the 
priest that he may be holy,” his pleasure was quite refresh¬ 
ing to see. “They will associate me with this Cross,” he 
mused; “and they will be led to pray for me and for my 
work in China.” 

This policy of depending more on spiritual weapons than 
on intellectual and oratorical ability was particularly notice¬ 
able during the days preceding his last mission at Fort 
Bragg. Before leaving the novitiate he went to many of the 
Tertians to request prayers for the success of his efforts; and, 
on arriving at St. Ignatius in San Francisco, he determined 
not to visit his parents though they lived but a few blocks 
away and superiors had given him permission to do so. He 
went to Father Gleeson, his former Provincial, to ask advice, 
saying, “I think I ought to make the sacrifice and offer it for 
the mission.” Father Gleeson told him to go as it would be 
such a consolation to his family. It was destined to be his 
last visit. He was there an hour or two; in the evening, 
when his mother asked him to stay longer, he replied: “I 
wish to be back at the rectory before dusk: it is the rule.” 
It was Our Lady’s Month and his mother begged him to sing 
a May hymn before leaving. Adrian went out of doors and 
looked up at the sky; coming back again to the family circle 
he said: “I have time to sing just one before dusk.” 

He chose “Ave Maria, bright and pure, hear, oh hear 
me when I pray.” Into that song he put all his tender love 
for Mary Immaculate. It was not of earth; it was like a 
flight through the years fragrant with roses, forgotten roses; 
luminous with stars, golden with dimly-remembered dawns. 
It brought you back to childhood and to all that goes with 
childhood — innocence, purity and never-faltering Faith; 

[225] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and at the same time it brought you up, up to the very gates 
of heaven, and for a moment the curtain was drawn back, 
and with John you saw the tens and tens of thousands, who 
follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth. When it was 
over, his mother said: “Adrian that singing was beautiful.” 
And he replied: “I wonder how I can do it: it is the same 
way when I preach —I wonder how I can do it.” 

He took his hat and coat and remained a moment to bid 
adieu to his parents. Without knowing it, he stood directly 
beneath one of his own portraits taken when he was a lad of 
twelve years. The years had been kind to him. His features 
held the same childlike simplicity, the same delicate purity 
that was his as a boy. We sometimes remark upon the perennial 
glow of youth that frequently shows in the faces of priests and 
nuns; and quite erroneously ascribe it to lack of worry and 
regularity of life, forgetting entirely that the font of eternal 
youth is found not in pampering the body but in polishing the 
soul, that 


“Beautiful faces are they that wear 
The light of a pleasant spirit there, 

It matters little if dark or fair.” 

The next morning at 4.30 Adrian celebrated his last 
Mass in St. Ignatius. It was the feast of Saint John 
Nepomucene, the martyr especially dear to him. He looked 
quite frail and weak in his vestments of ruby red; and seemed 
even then to be pushing his reluctant body for one last effort 
in the Master’s service. A day or two later he pens the fol¬ 
lowing : 


[226] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 

Church of Our Lady of Good Counsel, 
Fort Bragg, Calif., 
May 19, 1919. 

Dear Father Instructor, 

P. X. 

There was a good attendance yesterday at the opening of 
the mission, thanks to God, and to Our Lady of Good Counsel, 
under whose patronage we place the mission and to whom the 
parish has been consecrated! The evening attendance was 
good, despite the rain, which is often an obstacle to those 
living at a distance. Please obtain from all fervent prayers 
that we may have during these days of the mission only the 
spiritual rain of abundant grace, and not the material rain, 
which unfortunately keeps some from attending the mission. 
You remember how during the Lenten missions we had good 
weather continually; and this was no doubt owing to the 
fervent prayers that were offered for their success. 

There are some persons here who persecute the Catholics. 
They watch them from their houses when they go to Mass that 
they may afterwards reproach them and ridicule them for 
attending the Holy Sacrifice. They are bitter enemies of our 
Holy Faith, and this made the Archbishop say that these 
persons are the support of the Church, in this sense that by 
their fanatical efforts they only strengthen the Catholics in 
their Faith; persecutions being always, by the favor of God, 
a source of strength. 

All this Father Laurence has been telling me. He told me 
moreover to tell you that he must have me here all day next 
Sunday to close the mission Sunday evening; otherwise there 
would be no utility in staying that Sunday at all, and to close 
the mission on Saturday would be impracticable. 

Though I made the announcement that we will hear Con¬ 
fessions at any time that we are asked to do so, nevertheless 
the formal time for commencing the mission confessions will 
be next Wednesday evening. 

I must now close since I must prepare the sermon. Rec- 

[227] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


ommending myself most earnestly to your prayers and Holy 
Sacrifices, 

Tuus Totus in Corde Jesu, 
Adrian I. McCormick S. J. 

Adrian made a profound impression not alone on the 
people of Fort Bragg but on the Capuchin Fathers as well. 
They were all surprised at his preaching, wondering how one 
with so weak a body and frail a frame could thunder forth 
the judgments of God and bring men back to a conviction of 
their duties toward the Creator. It was because his heart and 
his lips, like those of Isaias, had been cleansed by a burning 
coal—by the fire of charity that burned so brightly in his 
delicate body. Father Laurence writing to the Tertian In¬ 
structor, Father Joseph Piet, says: 

. . He was a holy man. The good work he did in Fort 
Bragg will never be forgotten.” 

And Father Gregory of Mendocino writes: 

“. . . He did wonderful work in Mendocino during the 
mission. Everybody was surprised at the success of his 
preaching. His sanctity also helped me. He taught me to 
love my Crucifix. If ever I .become a saint it will be due to 
Father Adrian’s example.” 

After the mission at Fort Bragg, Adrian returned imme¬ 
diately to Los Gatos. In all probability he was running a 
temperature during those strenuous days for, on his return, 
he gave up and went to the infirmary where it was found that 
he had close to 104 degrees of fever. It was in those days 
when every physician was overworked and worn out because 
of the lingering epidemic of Influenza. It was next to im- 

[228] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


possible to secure medical attention, and the brother Infirm- 
arian was both doctor and nurse. Everything was done to 
conquer the fever. When the aspirin began to affect the heart, 
cold sponges were used with good results, and the fever was 
held around 101. It was then thought best, since no reliable 
physician could be had in the near vicinity, to take Adrian to 
the O’Connor Sanatorium in San Jose. It was an unwise 
move both because of the danger from change in temperature 
and from the fact that Adrian was never at home away from 
his brethren and in strange surroundings. A month before 
his last sickness he reiterated to one of his companions a wish 
he had often expressed, on previous occasions that—if it were 
the will of God—he might die in a house of the Society sur¬ 
rounded by the presence and by the prayers of his religious 
associates. Nevertheless superiors were of the opinion that 
he would have a better chance to combat pneumonia under the 
gentle and attentive administrations of the good Sisters of 
Charity in San Jose than without medical aid at Los Gatos; 
and Adrian was the first to acquiesce in this program. He 
made the journey by ambulance, but the effort proved too 
much for his failing strength; his fever shot up beyond con¬ 
trol and they were never able to bring it again within bounds. 

It was on a Sunday afternoon, June 1, 1919, that he was 
taken to the sanatorium. The next day fiis parents, having 
been notified of his illness, visited him. It was a very warm 
day, and the intense heat beating down from the walls inten¬ 
sified the fierce heat within. Unmindful of his own sufferings, 
when his mother entered the room he smiled and waved his 
hand saying, “Whichever way this turns you will leave it 
all to God, mother.” And then he spoke quite cheerfully for 
some moments, never alluding to his suffering which must 
have been intense, for one accustomed to the work in hospitals 

[229] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


and the care of the sick said: ‘‘I have many times seen 
pneumonia and its fever but never anything like this, yet he 
never mentioned it.” 

Adrian’s little sister was notified too. She could not 
come but wrote the following letter which Adrian did not live 
to read. 


Monastery of the Precious Blood, 
Portland, Oregon, 
First Friday of June, 1919. 

My dear Adrian, 

We have just heard of your illness and have begun a 
novena for you. The Holy Mass in our chapel tomorrow will 
be for you. May the Precious Blood of the Heart of Him 
Whom you love so well be for you a source of comfort and of 
strength in your illness. 

I place you deep down in the Precious Blood of the only 
Heart Who loves you more than your little sister. He will 
care for you. I trust that you will soon be better, but if God 
does not grant you the martyrdom for which we have both 
prayed so long, He will grant you the “Martyrdom of Love.” 
Let me share in the last as you promised I should in the first. 
Bless me from your sick-bed and if Jesus your Spouse calls 
you, pray for me till I too reach Heaven. 

In Jesus’ Blood, 

Your devoted sister, 

Sr. Mary of the Infant Jesus. 

For days our hopes ran high that Adrian perhaps would 
weather the storm. Two days before his death he was particu¬ 
larly bright, and the present writer returning to the novitiate 
was accosted by a former confessor of Adrian’s—one who had 
known him intimately from the days when he was a novice. 
He asked me Adrian’s condition, and I replied that he was 
slightly better. He then replied: “Adrian may appear better; 
but I am convinced that Adrian will die on the First Friday, 

[230] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


for I know of his ardent intense love for the Sacred Heart.” 
And events bore out his assertion. 

A few days before his death, Brother Danahy, who was in 
constant attendance at his bedside, came in to clip his beard. 
Adrian, who had always obeyed the slightest wish of those 
even temporarily placed over him, said: ‘ ‘ No, no, no, brother: 
you must not touch it.” His mother surprised and amazed, 
replied: “Adrian, anything connected with the body is trivial 
and we will not care what they do with it.” He then re¬ 
joined: “Yes, mother dear, call brother now and he may cut 
it, and mother dear beg pardon of God for me and beg pardon 
of the brother and ask him to forgive me, and you will forgive 
me, mother dear?” It was only after Adrian had exchanged 
China for Heaven that they remembered missionaries to China 
let their beards grow a few months before their departure as 
otherwise the Chinese think them too young and immature and 
will not have confidence in them. He could so readily have 
explained his reluctance to consent to the wishes of the brother, 
but he only begged pardon in his winning way; and then 
added: ‘ ‘ Beg of God for me the virtue of humility. ’ ’ 

At the beginning of Adrian’s last sickness he asked for 
the last Sacraments and received them with the utmost rever¬ 
ence and devotion. He was always afraid lest he might not 
receive the last rites of the Church as soon as it was permis¬ 
sible to do so; and that they might be postponed in order not 
to awaken in him a terror of death. This was one of Adrian’s 
pet subjects of conversation. “When I am sick I want to have 
the last Sacraments as soon as in the prudent judgment of 
others I am sick enough to receive them.” And his wish was 
fulfilled. 

On the eve of the First Friday the doctors said that 
Adrian was better; but his mother thought he was in grave 

[231] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


danger and hesitated about going back to San Francisco that 
night. In her dilemma she questioned Adrian: 11 Shall I stay 
or go hack to the city with your father?” And he replied: 

‘ ‘ Do as the Holy Spirit prompts you. ’ ’ A few moments later 
he added: “Pray that my last breath may be drawn in love 
of the Sacred Heart.” This beautiful petition has been 
treasured as his last words for when his mother returned in 
the morning he was delirious. 

That evening—his last evening on earth—he spent the 
time almost continually in prayer. 1 ‘ He had me on my knees 
most of the time,” says Brother Danahy; “but I could not 
refuse him. Again and again he would say to me: ‘ Now brother 
we will say some more prayers; we will say this prayer to our 
Blessed Mother and that other prayer to the Sacred Heart. * ’ ’ 
And when he felt the approach of eternity he would say, 
“Father into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” Towards 
morning he was strongly tempted for some time; and fre¬ 
quently, between ejaculations, would mutter: “Begone Satan! 
Begone! ’ ’ Father Richard Bell, who was present at the 
moment, kept absolving and blessing him; and then he began 
to recite for Adrian the Litany of the Sacred Heart for, he 
said: “Since Adrian was dying on the First Friday (a fitting 
day for one who so loved the Heart of Jesus) I thought that 
that would be the appropriate and blessed prayer for him.” 
After awhile the temptation passed and Adrian began to 
wander in mind. He was once again a child. Now it was a 
muttered Word of endearment to his sister, Rose; again it was 
a shout of victory at a baseball game that had been won; and 
finally he was a choir lad at old St. Ignatius singing the 
praises of Mary Immaculate. He put his last ounce of strength 
into that hymn, and one who was present told how he had 
heard the greatest songsters on the operatic stage yet never 

[232] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


had he been moved as on this occasion. It was Adrian’s 
greatest triumph. Gradually his voice became more subdued 
and then ceased entirely. One of the Sisters said: “He is 
asleep.” It was true—he was asleep, but only to wake like 
John on the Heart of Jesus. Someone said aloud: “Call him 
back, Father! ’ ’ But Father Bell replied: ‘ ‘ Nay, nay the boy 
is already with God.” 

They brought him back over the “Via Appia” of Cali¬ 
fornia, over the “Beautiful Way,” over the Alameda, the 
palm-bordered avenue of patrician homes which links the sister 
cities of San Jose and Santa Clara,—back to the spot he loved 
best while on earth—the chapel where a ruby light told us that 
the Master was there to welcome him home. And the historic 
old bells, presented to Santa Clara by King Carlos V,—bells 
that with silver music have never faltered in their task of 
summoning the faithful to devotion, to charm the air morning, 
noon and evening with their heavenly prelude to the aspira¬ 
tions of the Angelus, — these bells tolled a welcome for the 
home-coming of a hero priest—one who had valiantly wielded 
the Sword of Conquest. 

“Ring out, 0 bells, from the mission tower, 

Ring o’er the ‘Beautiful Way,’ 

Echo the songs of heaven to earth, 

0 sweetly ring I pray. 

“Ye oft have tolled for the sainted dead, 

Bells of the ‘Beautiful Way,’ 

For the sandaled friar and dark-robed priest, 

But sweeter ring to-day. 

“Ring out, 0 bells, from Santa Clara’s tower, 

Ring o’er the ‘Beautiful Way,’ 

A spotless life and a martyr’s crown 
The burden of your lay. 

[233] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


“Ring out, 0 bells, for an angel priest 
Gone o’er the ‘Beautiful Way,’ 

Echo the joy of heaven to earth, 

0 sweetly ring to-day.” 

They placed him before the altar of Saint Clare, and 
throughout the waning afternoon and evening his fellow reli¬ 
gious and intimate friends silently came to pay their last 
respects to his memory. Even in death he continued to preach 
of innocence and purity. The sweet sunny boyish smile never 
faded from his countenance; and added to this was an aura of 
peace and holiness which impressed all who looked upon him. 
Gravely and quietly he seemed to say: “Look and discover 
how happy I am!” His face always bespoke sweetness and 
gentleness but in death it appeared as if glorified. As the 
last rays of day crept through the stained windows the lines 
on the death of the young Cardinal Jacapo came to one’s lips: 


He rests in peace, clad all in chastity 
.... Where the rich lights fall 
Lies he, the gathered lily. 

“And some there are unscathed of flame or sword yet on 
their brows the seal of suffering and in their hands a rose of 
martyrdom, a fount of wonder in their pensive eyes sprung 
from the thought that pain is consummated.” Adrian’s pain 
was consummated; it was over. The next day, after the simple 
low Mass had been celebrated and the last absolution given, 
he was taken to the quaint old graveyard at Santa Clara and 
laid to rest by the side of his old friend, Father Rene. He 
would have liked to have it thus, to be even in death with 
strong spiritual characters, to have the green grass above him 
and the breezes in the palm trees whispering a requiem for 
the repose of his heroic soul. 


[234] 



ONCE UPON A TIME 


An apostle’s, martyr’s, virgin’s crown is thine, 
In which the palm and lily intertwine, 

Fair symbols of thy innocence and love 
And still thy mission in the courts above 
Shall e’er go on, 0 Angel Priest of God, 
Drawing men’s hearts into the Heart Divine 
And o’er the land for which thy zeal did pine 
The blessed light of faith shall surely dawn, 
Thou’rt but to the Eternal Altars gone 
To plead for us, 0 Angel Priest of God! 


[235] 


L’Envoi 


For some weeks our little friend Ignatia has been confined 
to the hospital. On the days when I would bring her Holy 
Communion she would say as I was leaving: “Padre, ask them 
to let me go down to Pala. I have an aunt down there who 
loves me dearly. I wish to end my days in Pala.” And so a 
week ago they took my angel friend in an ambulance to the 
place her heart desired—to the old Pala mission. Poor child! 
she did not last long; three days ago I received word from the 
aunt that Ignatia had died. Almost her last words were to tell 
me how dreadfully disappointed she was at not seeing me once 
more on earth. Early yesterday morning I took two of her 
girlhood friends, Fern Snow and Loretta Blacktooth, and we 
journeyed down for the funeral. Away from the main high¬ 
way, cupped in by surrounding moutains Pala has a tradition 
entirely its own. They are not worried there about outside 
affairs; they are like one big family—and a happy one at that. 
The services affected me strangely: they were so unique—and 
so Catholic. One custom they hold to in Pala is placing the 
collection box on the floor by the head of the corpse. All the 
friends of the deceased come up after Mass and place their 
mite in this box as an offering for Masses for the repose of the 
soul of the dead person. Another custom is to sing the Sanctus 
in Spanish. An old Indian takes it up and the others join in 
the refrain. It is very devotional and very saddening too, for 
it recalls the days before the white man came when the 
Indians had their own little privileges and consolations—their 
Mass with their favorite hymns and prayers, their fiestas, their 
innocent amusements. But now it is so different. The Indian 


[236] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


feels himself an outcast, a pariah in the land that once was 
his, and—worst of all—we have broken his spirit. Instead of 
trying to christianize the Indian we have tried to civilize him. 
The result has been disastrous. 

I was asked to give the last absolution and say a few 
words of comfort to the mourners. I began by mentioning 
that Ignatia was always anxious to come to Pala and I won¬ 
dered why a child who had every attention in the Government 
hospital should desire to go where medical attention and 
assistance were harder to obtain—I wondered until I came 
down the slope of the hill and Pala lay like a white, flower at 
my feet, until I saw the mist like a benediction hanging above 
the hamlet, until I saw the peace and quiet that reigned there, 
—the men at their tasks in the fields, and nature doing her 
part too—the little brook singing on its way to the sea, the 
birds singing their rosaries to the Creator. I wondered, but 
I wonder no longer; this was just the place for our little 
friend to end her brief span of years. The chapel was just 
the place Ignatia would have selected—a thick adobe pile with 
its wooden statues a couple of centuries old—a place rich in 
all the best traditions of her race. And once again I told them 
that I no longer wondered why Ignatia had come to Pala. 
Then I spoke of the music: they played all the simple hymns 
that my young friend used to sing here at the school, and I 
was going to tell them once more that it would have been just 
as Ignatia wanted. But then somehow, for an oldster, I did 
an unpardonable thing; my voice broke and—well I made a 
fool of myself. I can remember only the ending of that 
sermon. Between sobs I told them that the Mexican Govern¬ 
ment and the United States Government had usurped the 
land that once belonged to them; that the latter was trying to 
make what little reparation it could by educating their chil- 

[237] 


ONCE UPON A TIME 


dren and partially providing for their wants, but that never 
again would this territory he theirs; but that there was an¬ 
other country that no man and no government could take from 
them—a country where there were no injustices, no partings, 
no tears, no deaths. 

Kind reader, may we all meet the Prince and Ignatia in 
that far-off country beyond the star dust and the stars. 

FINIS 


[2381 






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&UG 25 1924 




































































